crossing the line
I tell myself I can’t write poetry like that
that my voice just won’t obey
what the mind wants to imitate
and even though I once was a blackbird
my voice will sing no more
isolated by accident
I consider knives & scissors & fingernail
cutting up a past by creating
jagged shapes out of paper
and new definitions out of thin air
how the pieces get put back together
is out of my control
for there are more compelling things
to consider as we cross over the line
april two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
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