This poem is me
as if it was requests hour at the radio station
even if you are young
and don't know about request hours
or listen to the radio.
What if I dedicated my dial
(what even was a dial) to you--
you people in dangerous places,
you people with loved ones in dangerous places.
Me and poetry are not a safe space
because I come to lyric
when time and space
don't rhyme and rifts and shifting
action spill out of tune and I
am bereft of prose because I am deep in the
"Who knows?"
And that's why I want to hold you here
where I find it dangerous to be--
you in all you are and I where I am trying to be
feeling the part where art bridges
tragedy and fugues itself into
multipart harmony and
something something directs a prism
to where others try to see and witness the full spectrum
as if that was an epiphany
that could be cantilevered by poetry
as never was in prose.
This dangerous space is for who knows
what, but I put my pen in it and like a grenade
pull the pin out
hoping understanding
explodes.
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