Careful of what I carry
in my head and in my hollow,
I've been a long time worried
about grasping infinity
and coaxing some calm
out of the softest part
of the pins and needles
of me. I'd like to take a nap.
But not a nap that's eternal,
a nap where you wake up
having dreamt of falling, but
you've only fallen into
an ease so unknown to you
it looks like a new country.
Let me slip into a life less messy.
Let me slip into your sleeve.
Be very brave about my
trespass, the plan is simple—
the plan is the clock tower
and the lost crow. It'll be rich.
We'll live forever. Every moon
will be a moon of surrender
and lemon seeds. You there,
standing up in the crowd,
I'm not proud. The stove
can't boast of the meal.
All this to say—consider this,
with your combination of firefly
and train whistle, consider this,
with your maze and steel,
I want to be the rough clothes
you can't sleep in.