fall down the page,
a leaf the color of blood;
words soak so easily
into the armor of routine—
“read me” the only
label on this paper bottle of pills, this
prescription, this
poetry, water for a
thirsty tongue—
taste my words and
know my revolution (revelation), my
LIGHT steeped,
blanched,
distilled
into ink-stains on cotton
white as a newborn soul and
in these final days, last
hours, huddled against
crowded loneliness
feel me there beside you
reaching for your
hand

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