Words are still short today and were yesterday. I'm coming back though, I'm feeling that. And so I wrote this poem as a reminder of my own poder :
st. michael's logic
st. michael is feeling bad ass
has cut her hair and everyone says her ears are
very nice.
st. michael walks around with her lover's old shoes,
left in the haste of the move out.
when st. michael sees her former love
at the bar or the planetarium
she remembers the lover's promise
-I am moving to a time before you existed for me-
and so st. michael does not see her,
the shoes walking her through smooth.
st. michael says if she really believes I don't exist
she shouldn't have to turn to the side to allow me to pass.
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