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To Clutch

by Lacey Smith

For once her hands were cherry and white
as her teeth paused phrases back, said little more
than necessary, breaking syllables, consonants

chipping habits. Her eyes may be a worrisome place to stay
but all is well within the ribs, these hearts are beating
though mostly out of touch, swallowing new the hard words

we make fairy tales of tragedies, move lies within truths
and make believe that fixation is need, we want more of
what we cannot have, we crave the relentless urge of it

yet mostly, I am waiting like the ghost of something that was
never me, bolts of fabric flinging out. we are sheer like shadows,
ghastly titans of commas, and commas, and commas, and

you are the statue of the crumbling slow, quieter than whispers
like palms outturned and waiting for sleep, please come to kiss
this bruise away, it will not go and all of this could never work

within such discord, such taunting harmonies that leave trails
of steam, letters without stamp or seal and sentiments too drunk
to tease, too hollow to feel, too far gone to really know

still too tired
to truly sleep

06/30/2005

Posted on 06/30/2005
Copyright © 2020 Lacey Smith

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Lulu Alder on 07/01/05 at 03:44 AM

The verb choice here is excellent. The images and those verbs really do give a sense that anyone going through that situation would also be "too tired to truly sleep." And that last line also makes me wonder if people in reality are often too tired to live. Great read.

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