I can’t fuckin’ sleep. I’m nodding away
but keep coming to.
Tongue’s felted and fuzzy
Waiting for those pills to dissolve in my tract
I am concerned for my health in this house of a hundred hazards.
No two the same.
and here, and here, and here,
on the cusp of a fear
perches the junked-up ache of being.
Balanced between the + & –
I would say my thoughts are these:
You make me proud of every root I am tendril of.
This makes me possible. This moment makes me everything.
Please teach me all you can. My mouth caught wonder upon you.
Level your words in opposing weights. Stasis and Symmetry. Be my libra.
# hashtag that shit.


2 thoughts on “#BeMyLibra

  1. You lucky, lucky boy.You had to have her. And you did. And now you pull the bridges between your houses,
    you make her call before she visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover
    who looks at you like maybe you are magic.
    You loved a girl with more hands that a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like
    a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell
    it in the street. – ‘Be My Libra’ – is a poem that I cannot ‘just read’. I actually need to inhale those words to really feel their intensity. A warning – Vincent’s writing may cause hyperventilation.


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