My words become unclipped from my tongue
Like the dying words of an unknown sonnet,
Spoke in the voice of a man who's seen too much,
Too much to understand.
The brown bottle sweats in my hand.
Inside lies my best kept secret:
A paradise in a bottle to fog out the pictures
I never took the time to learn.
Already, that dream and others like it
Are so far out of reach.
Little paradise in a little bottle.
Take me home to sleep.
it is for this reason--
the warm tingle in my spine,
the lump in my throat,
the feeling deep in my stomach, and heart, that I read poetry...
that I breathe poetry...
it is poems like this that are my oxygen
I thank you for this breath of poetry.