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Last night under cover of
a starlit sky, I barely escaped
with my misery. I had hardly
any time to pack my treacle tears
in rows of feathered carton nests
for future recollection, watched
in horror while the pot lights
strung across the Dresden, oh
so precious figurines of every
hurtful thing was ever done
to me (I never save the hurts
I do—no hoarder, me!) exploded,
sending shards and powdered
yodels cross the atmosphere
into my weary eyes. Oh, how
they stung! To look at me, you’d
think, poor thing, all she’s been
through…I peep through slitted lid
to see if, yes, indeed, you’ve taken
up my cause, are willing on my
lazy ass behalf to bang the
drums and cymbals that I haul
around of not enough and woe,
sweet woe, and fall into a moment’s
hopefulness that maybe misery
and I have executed well our
great escape—the wake of
desolation that I like to call
enlightenment gives off a
hoary glow and gathers
pop-eyed crowds, but no—
un-try as I might, I see the dots
between the spaces of the Pleiades
are connected and they lead
from me to you and me to you
and me to you and nothing
I can say or do will stop
the waves of bliss and ever-
lasting happy trysts we
mapped now lapping
at my toes.


© Elaine Stirling, 2013