The Second Wake I Wait For You by GabrielGadfly, literature
Literature
The Second Wake I Wait For You
I may have to hit you
in the head with a shovel
and I don't want to.
The man on the news
said the dead are rising
from their graves,
said this is the end of the world,
said oh god they're at the door
they're at the door
and then he screamed
and the screen went red
and the channel went
to static, to snow, to fuzz
so he's probably right.
I turned off the television
and then I drove out to the
cemetery at the edge of town
and sat down with
a lantern and the old shovel
we used to keep in the shed.
The sharp grin of the moon
is coming up
and I keep hearing things
rustling in the dark.
I'll sit down
to wait for you.
Don't
I cannot talk to you right now.
I can't part my lips
and spill conversations out:
the sentences grow barbs,
my mouth doesn't work,
my tongue seizes up,
and the words catch.
I am choking on them
and I can't spit them out.
The only way I can speak
to you is in code.
I have to tell you
that I am growing moth wings,
that the deep blue Atlantic
is writhing under my ribs,
that the butterflies in my stomach
are trying to bite their way out
and I am swallowing bottlefuls
of hornets to sting them quiet.
That I have stopped being a man
and have started being a pillar of salt
trying to learn how to rain dance.
That I am eating smok
we're not young. we know that this fire won't consume us forever. so we dive into it, headfirst; no more fears, just pure passion. so when you say, 'when this part is over, let's build things, let's grow ideas together', i feel that i just burn brighter, begin to melt; and i wonder what shape i'll take once we reach that other side.