Question 5
I am floodgates, opened,
bursting through with paramedics
storming to tear the giants from my windows.
I hope to be caught, floating, unaided,
held together by string
but all my maps are haunted. I hang
my hopes on typewriter ribbon,
leave the ink to dry amid
rooms filled with saints.
I've burnt all my churches,
all my bridges,
all my witches,
and left at the stake. I still recit
"you are the charms"
"you are the charms"
as if I've found a mantra to live to,
yet what good is
a message for other people? Where's
my new-age mysticism?
Where's my geist -
disembodied and wearing my face
like a coat.
By Aaron Kent - @GodzillaKent