stamped flat stamped
(Ashley Capes)

Posted on July 27, 2010 by in Heightened Talk

 

in my office between classes

I rage at flat things: the sea,

the land, the hard, flat dollar coin

and all its friends,

the road too short by far

and my feet, fingernails and thumbs

sleeping, none of them wings,

I rage at the flat things

until my voice is stamped flat

stamped like the stamp of a soldier’s liberating

boot; I rage until all my dreams are flat

I rage so quietly that animals come close

I rage so well that people congratulate me

I rage so far that distant mummies wake in

their class cabinets, I rage at the rainbow slinky

for no other reason, than that it is on my desk,

I rage so that you notice and go away

I rage at flat things like the paper kipple

growing over me, I rage at words I cannot fix

I rage so deep that Hades lets Persephone go back

for more flowers and I rage so much that

it flattens my soul, now like a leaf

as it turns in the breeze,

and no-one left to chase it.

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