Article voiceover
Hey You
This poem
was written
just for you.
Yes, you.
The only person
reading this poem—
in this placeless spyglass
this here-now
that is its own universe—
is you.
The experience
you’ve just chosen—
this strange churning
of words
that sound first
and mean later—
will never happen
again.
Never
has the cosmos—
yours or mine
or any other torus
of spacetime—
had the particular
molecular arrangement
and exact
emotional engagement
as what is happening
right now.
And I’m so glad
you’ve found yourself
here.
Feel free to rest anywhere.
Wipe your tired feet
on a fluffy fricative.
Rest your head
on a sonorant vowel
set like a throw pillow
on an errant syllable.
You may set down
as much or as little
of what you’re carrying
as you’d like.
You are staggering
in all your turbulent
and exuberant
light.
I know
things have been hard
because you are human.
That scorching tremble
in your eyes?
Keep it.
Your fears are your own
strengths
even more
than your scars are.
Live.
Dive and dance
and then rest
in the spectral river
of experience
we’re all made of.
Doubt, yes
of course you will
but birth
your terrifying dreams
and laugh at the prospect
of a god who would suffer
the loss of you—
her whole existence.
Love this! You have captured much here, including the fact that poems (like all creative writing) are incomplete and are just words on a page until someone reads them. Reading is indeed a creative process. Thanks for sharing this with us.
I've already seen this bit restacked twice, but it's so dang good:
"Feel free to rest anywhere.
Wipe your tired feet
on a fluffy fricative.
Rest your head
on a sonorant vowel
set like a throw pillow
on an errant syllable."