Friday, April 20, 2012

Stone

Wake up little stone.
I know you think I don’t care.
I know you’d rather I
turn into a chair
than endure
one-way conversations.

If only you knew
how much I adore
running my fingertips
across your roughened surfaces,
all the ages of the world
contained by your stoic-ness.

If only you could feel
how I feel,
open your stony eyes
and admire the beauty
naked before you,
the human sadness

that can mill mountains
into clay,
jackhammer lovers
into sand.
It’s all I can do to step on you
to get to another just like you.

Tiny little insignificant
pebble of a stone.
We are more alike
than both of us
care to think.
I will show you if you grind this ink.

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