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David and I are not so different

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David and I are not so different

  1. 1. David and I are not so different By Evan M Peck
  2. 2. As tulips twisted wildly under my fingernails I tore them back, to see what I could see
  3. 3. Supposing softer things than twelve disciples wandering through a desert masked in dimpled twitches of hope
  4. 4. And it’s wrong to tell what I tell them. how it ends, I mean.
  5. 5. Just as it’s wrong to presuppose the ending of enigmatic snowstorms. But in my red-mittened me, I do anyways. I desire to guzzle hot chocolate – to melt my stomach into card games and kashmir naps. I do hope for things.
  6. 6. That way I can sit besides the likes of Louis Armstrong, and his sunshine softened songs. Or walk alone awhile
  7. 7. just Abraham and I
  8. 8. But the second act, that – that’s when it all happens. The crackled doorways I mean. Where he touches wrists and weeps, though only gently. And where a woman in wailing cloths says something about hallelujah. And David trembles under glory.
  9. 9. That’s what strikes me. The shaking – of ground of knees
  10. 10. of David and his majesty. The type that cries Bathsheba and glory in a shattering of teeth. That’s what makes me tremble
  11. 11. But so does Stevie Wonder – his own s h a t t e r i n g calamity. An outpouring and unpouring of orchestrated chaos so closely resembling me.
  12. 12. But I suppose that’s where I end in the end – with fruity lattes, terrible poems, and sunsets that only preclude the rest of it.
  13. 13. So as butterflies sit cordially at crusted tables in my stomach – sucking salty cigars and blowing smoke into my lungs, their wings vomit creative storms
  14. 14. Which is me.
  15. 15. Which is calamity.
  16. 16. Which is me.
  17. 17. And why when tulips twist wildly under my fingernails I tear them back just to walk unalone.
  18. 18. And why when tulips twist wildly under my fingernails I tear them back just to walk unalone.

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