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Given a choice between
a kind of permanence
and the impetuosity of magic,
I’d choose whichever can
roll out like a highway that
lets me escape with you and
which would let me be
myself your personal escape
from the place where
everything is hard.

You say
everyone is sorry but
none of it can make
any of it go away

Are you tired yet of
running around
rescuing phantoms
who don’t care to be rescued
in your house of fire,
afraid to leave behind
an offensive habituation
to accusing voices that
will only hush once
you are ashes?
Can you not let fall apart
what’s already irreparably
broken without your help,
and let the coming new tide
crawl over and engulf that
which requires nothing less?

there’s courage that
accosts vindictiveness
wearing the same
expensive breastplate,
and there’s life

If they can’t disappear
why can’t we choose
to stop being here?

untitled photo by photographer Leigh Taylor