your wounds have no date, time, place or other label
they wear the cold garment of refusal to heal
and refusal to get worse
they are tender to the touch
as my growing panic stretches around today
and if it bursts
if it explodes
it will cease to be panic
soon it will be time to shapeshift
and rise from the ashes
like the fluttering phoenix of dreamtime
pulling on a reserve of patience and dignity
your strength has no name date time location or label
but it has purpose
haunted by past lifetime sins
scratching out verses and litanies
of bittersweet truth, as you hold my eyes open
and you lean on my eternal roots
the pressure intensifies until we collapse
and remake the reality
my art and the poetry of your strength
give me a thick rope to swing from
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