mountain of bones

 

Hope is a mountain of bones I must clean and sharpen

Hope

is a mountain of bones

I must clean

and sharpen

press against the others

and against myself.

Pain repays you

by being

poisonous.

And you want me

to trace back

the source of my suffering.

Let’s say it hasn’t dissolved back into reality.

Let’s say it still exists.

It is something I should want dead?

Break it over and over and hear what?

The answers fall on the victim.

So give answers. To the thousand

voices who oppose fusing you into a whole.

“Can you survive where we won’t last?”

I am no longer even certain.

That’s how much trust I have.

It is at once the gift and the torment.

You were here before I was here

You constitute the field

where my punishment will happen.

Isn’t it strange how it makes no sound

dropping all that one’s gathered?

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