dared to not look

o what right do I have over you you may say—
audaciously, to unload upon you such a load,
and bare my self and my soul so naked,
revealing to you your heart, its sweet abode—
and look how I expect the air, so fair,
tossed all about by your breathing;
and my rhythm! a schism in the clearing!
and then, you frown when I so dare
to take my time, and let you through,
lower so my gaze, open doors for you—
but you’re pages whirl through the winds!
and the streets’ bouncing up your hinds
takes all my troubles away, makes doubles
of my earthly stay, when with you, up high
I’d rather fly—watch all the little people rush—
hush, the secret to my weaving is this deal
I have with the waves and the days—
mi sol! mi reina! they’re so busied today
on this misty quiet city-summer’s day;
they’ve found a simple song’s ways
hum through them, n’drum n’sooth’em
and they forget each other’s open woes,
like open wounds glittered with gold,
by foolish doctors whose practice slows
freedom down to a crawl, or a weak hold—
as if it were only a worldly possession
and not where, how and who to build with!
when are our sights set into submission,
why oh why are we so misgiven then,
contented with breaking every rule
only to cry for them one by one:
I straighten my back and scream-sing,
I wail and beat my chest from the inside
until I call every storm to uproot these traditions,
do away with these false delusions of innocence—
that we’d never be saved or need saving,
that the best of us doesn’t exist or wished to,
that our skin isn’t so sweet and bright
it blinds and burns those who’d stare,
before they ever do—or that the times,
withering away into randomn rhymes fall
still, and trickles down low does finesse,
like your hair, but it’s humid and your frizzy,
and the life-less gawk, while the humbled,
they’re afraid they’ll never earn or learn
what makes their soul so willful and dizzy.
you’re so thin, some of you, some so frail,
but you’re bare legs, painted with every color
tightly bound to the earth shake the universe
with their own stilted verse, and I’m crushed.
but here I am like the Phoenix from the ashes,
rustling the through the trees of midtown,
filtering my own traffic and telling you:
follow me, take my word, give up your world,
and take to the heavens warmly dressed.
let the coolness of my eyes wash over you.

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