The world's worn you down
so I want to be sharp as anything
You ride the tip of every miracle I pray for
I've told a million of these stories
sometimes it feels like obsession
but I think I'm just deathly afraid
Leave me stranded like a car wreck, smash
all the picture frames I've balanced on your head
you've never been strong enough anyway as
this city's clocktower weighs like whispers on my shoulders
I would place weight on your palms like lightning
and walk out of my skin, show you my thunder
but I know if I did there would be no more unspoken poems in the spot next to you,
you've never been strong enough anyway
I can be sharp as anything
if you want me to be,
take a turn holding this world
and it might show you a sliver of skyline.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The WITHNESS of the person we stand next to adds a dimension of space to our world. We cannot enter another person's inwardness, but the prospect of successive doors adds some room. Too bad we can't merge right through our skins, in a sudden flash of light, but it is safer to peel the onion layers forever.