poetry WRITING

don’t rock me


when my speaking voice
transforms me into
an unintelligible heap of
soon-to-be forgotten teeth
do not place me in the
rocking chair on the porch
i’ve lived much too long
to be forced into corners
and given much too much
to be hidden by a cloak
of natural invisibility
let me instead
walk down the steps
to get lost
then found
so that each day

until my death
i be gifted with a
recurring expression of

for simply being present

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