I am the line.

Feb. 2019

I am the line

stopping you from devouring me.

I am the line

tossing in the swirling seas and high waves of the never ending mind 

I am the line 

rescuing myself from me, from you, on a day in February 

I am the line

drawn taut between the nest and the pink clouds in the west

I am the line

you wanted me to be, to rescue you when you were recovering from self inflicted wounds and careless neglect 

I am the line

running down the highway daring myself to run in both directions at the same time 

I am the line

electricity bolts through at high voltage in hopes of keeping the house heated and the lights on

I am the line 

of invisible umbilical silk between you and me 

I am the line

Picasso draws effortlessly of her curved hips and triangular mound

I am the line 

determining the truth of what you mean to me and not the other way around

I am the line 

dividing the elemental horizon between land and sea 

I am the line

penetrating the softness of your being, splitting it into a safe place for me

I am the line

separating you from me, we are not one, I am not your extension, you just gave me life

I am the line

the scar, of the reciprocating saw, down your breast plate

I am the line

the 49th, a swath of trees cut like they were grass being scythed on a Saturday afternoon

I am the line

you don't want to cross 

I am the line 

drawn in the sand


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