Poetica Spontenaium 8.24.04
This was scratched
along the border of wrinkled envelopes
Torn open and discarded,
addressed to other people.
At one point this was important
This shell, pristine and white
That carried sentiments over distance and time
like underground mixtapes of sulky crooners
passed from hand to hand
Clumsy words and sentiments
tripping and leaving a trail of hopes
inside the seal and lip of paper.
And now, it’s torn open and crumpled wide
like an overbloomed dahlia
Near forgotten, weary and defeated,
from years of fighting one’s own shadow
Lying quietly, in defeat
A torn edge shaped like a key
that tumbles barrels solemn in the lock
Finally clicking free, signalling that you’re home.
But with no one to greet you.
Smudged against the inside
I see these words
“If you thought I was paralized, you did not know how my belly trembled at a frequency that would otherwise shatter us both.”
And I think I see lipstick
As if the person who sent the letter
had clumsily packed a kiss inside
with both regret and intent.
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