Artwork: Hoffman botanical butterflies
It is the most perfect clarity of the sun.
Like so much cotton candy it disappears once tasted on the tongue.
That’s not how this begins, but I can’t begin.
I am in the middle of a story that never ends.
.
It is like stepping into a river,
never to enter the same spot twice
and I try, for a third time today to find the words that escape my grasp…
for my hands are open, palms facing down.
And it is in this position that the storms rumble,
electric waves of shock, and they build
and they hold until they are released
with the tiny tapping of fingertips.
.
And the tips they do tap
as they do type
and they find the rhythm
of the key strokes but my mind,
no dice.
And I wonder if I could write without thinking,
just listen to the keys tap tap away
and simply compose my prose accordingly
but no,
this sentence takes too much thought so
I continue then,
slowly,
to find my point.
.
It is here in the middle of the story
that I begin again.
Nothing like a new beginning, says the addict.
.
Yesterday,
I return to my stroll
and I do it well
as my hips do roll and my shake do shock
and a man up in a wheelchair said, I love your walk.
And I walked long in the sun,
long enough to bubble copper and gold
as my skin glistened delicate and soft
and I smiled because no longer was I lost.
.
I was found,
or it found me.
And as the message came,
it was clear and sweet.
.
I just want to love you.
.
So love me. It feels good.
.
And my chest closes tight in a knot
and I can’t breathe for a minute and it gets hot.
The concrete is sparkling with shards of glass
and you know why the concrete sparkles like this?
It’s cause rats will burrow in it. Yes.
Under these streets are tunnels, warrens, dens.
And the only thing that will stop them is shards of glass.
.
Tho, on acid it looks like somethinn else.
Looks like the streets are littered with gems
and the light winks and blinks and tickles gently.
It is glitz and glamour and greatness at once
and who ever said not everything that glitters is gold
has never made due with less than twenty four kayy.
.
But yes. I do digress.
I wish to express this thing. This thing that I was told
and I sit here, breathing it in and breathing it out
and knowing, now knowing, just knowing,
ahhhh.
.
I’m not ready. Not yet.
.
~Miss Rosen
Brooklyn, 2012