Wordle #61 “Sonder”

Week 61

When did you drop from your perch?

And from what sinister heights

That I should come upon you

Bespoke for love,

Parts everywhere and sharp enough

To stitch into my woolen hide?

Spindly limbs choke the air,

More weaver than painter,

More executioner than poet.

What was your first encounter

With freedom and under which

Pseudonym did she court you?

Do your glib songs sound wooden

Without the reverberations of gangways

To disperse their ambling echoes?

Even morass invokes an audience

The shrinkage of a heart only

Fourteen centimeters to start instates

Its own curious following.

How good women crave persecution,

A tyrant that ravishes his calling.

A sonder falls upon

My neck like an umbilicus.

Cement slabs sprout upward

As if searching for the sun

Yes even the dead had lives

More prevalent and less dismissive

Than my own. One day my shell

Will fall away and I’ll worm

My way deep into the feculent folds

Of my only living mother.

I am a womb full of bleeding gums

And mesh-draped particulars.

I swallow only the splinters

Never the hatchet itself.

I will not rest until I’ve seen

The face behind the mask,

The child whose suffering

Has not yet been extinguished

And can never be extinguished

So long as his heart is a forge.