My moorings bend

From the force of

An increasingly frenzied current.

I never manage to untie myself

Before departing and where I lack talent

I have chosen momentum.

Within me the stars itch

Drawing the moon

From the oily pith of a sky

That is graciously expanding.

Our fingers collide

When reaching for the milk.

There’s no reason for privacy,

Not now that you have seen everything

But let’s continue carving

Moments whenever we can

So that we don’t become

Utterly indistinguishable.

The only ghost which

Cannot be exorcised

Is the soul and yet here I stand

Eviction notice in hand

Rattling the cage

With enough force

To break my heart in two.

I managed to get one done today but I am still working on my submission(s) so I may reblog on occasion.  Today was an emotional day, I am always emotional after therapy. I am trying to figure out how many poems to submit to The Newyorker they accept 6 submissions at a time but you are only permitted to submit twice in a year. Any words of wisdom would be appreciated!  It takes 6 months to get a response so by then we will have all forgotten.


7 thoughts on “Exorcism

  1. “Within me the stars itch”–wowza, what a fine phrase!!!!
    Wow, 6 months to get a response?? That seems interminable. I think if it were me, I’d submit 6–and then another 6 whenever it’s allowable; just my 2 cents 🙂

  2. This says more to me about the relationship than all of the rest of the poem:
    “Our fingers collide
    When reaching for the milk.”

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