a poem by NW Hall
How I Feel About My Time Here
I didn't know my stomach ascended into my chest.
I think I lost my voice indefinitely after that incident.
I wish this poem was bereft enough to leave me noisy sorrows
scraping often in my sleeping heart so someone might hear them.
I wish this poem was so greedy it took all of my worry about money,
love, and fate. Instead: this poem groans like swollen metal in the sun.
Silly me for presuming a busted diaphragm & a collapsed lung
were the closing, rib splitting heaves in my derivative last laugh.
Satyr, hear my pleading, I have ruptured a little spot inside my gut!
so swiftly I could not stop could not stop telling anyone who'd listen