don't you dare call me a child
i've lived more lives than all of
yours added together.
i'll only go if you ask me,
and only if you know without
being told.
anyone who knows anything
without being told
has caught me in his trap.
so be gracious with me.
i spun a top that an old love made,
and you the carpenter, confident,
waited for it to fall and, disgruntled,
declared it impossible when it spun eternal.
the top looked like an acorn,
or the kentucky derby,
either one, so long as the horses
shine red in the sun.
i have nothing beautiful to say,
only half-spit confessions.
if you uncovered the heart of this,
the heart of me,
what would you say? what would
you want to say?
guarded eyes,
bristling like the bastille,
and i feel that you are both
examining and warning me.
warning.
how many lanterns do you
hold behind your back?
