An Elegy: Transformation
An Elegy: Transformation poetry stories
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beatnikwndrlst
beatnikwndrlstI is someone else.
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Art is the only fire that could devour us alive, and bring us back more whole than ever before.

An Elegy: Transformation

I carried my poetry like a bullet in the gut:

Protecting it with hands of flesh;

Hands of Kevlar

As it bled out.

As it seeped between my fingers;

It didn't want to be protected.

My poetry is different from me.

You see:

It wanted to break all the bones

Turn my skin inside out

Pool on the ground

And show you your own face.

It wanted to scream

When I could only whisper.

Hardly breathe

It was my breath!

This is an elegy to my poetry

No.

This is an elegy to my lack of poetry.

This is the dying wish

The fire that burns the skin,

Or warms the face

This is the way the skin goes cold

How the body doesn't work the way it should anymore

This is the shit and the vomit

Clearing itself from my awareness.

This is the ashes:

And the way we rise up out of them.

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