Blogging & Poems, My Poems

[Metafiction]

If this were a poem, you
would be awake by now–

like a ghost

a migration of birds.

Your body–ejected
to the ceiling–would become

a pillar
for Christ to place his feet.

It happened on the morning
when in your car, you could not sleep.

Your mind, ejected particles.

And then the migration.

Then the loss.

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