Scrabbling through the debris

devolving
to the actual
has all this come from
the center of me
clasping in my hand
a discerning wand

burrowing in the kernel
of you and you and you
and no one believes it
they think they know my mind
but how can you know
an ever-changing song
even if you are
the one singing

once i fled from
from the dreams of my youth
accepting in my way
the path I’d laid out
for myself

the nights were hot
and the days were cold
and I nursed the burn
of the frost
and the flame
not knowing where
the ice quit
and the fire began

commingled disclaimers
to the drawn and quartered
throw the pieces
to the wind

time to take out the garbage


© 2000 Melissa Songer