Poetry- Megan Stratford

buried

she’s just where you said i’d find her
half-way buried
underneath the pendulous trapeze
to hang off of on afternoons that couldn’t move days like
this one when i smelled these collapsed parts before befuddling
onto sleep which was kept tidy &
in the shape of comfort without cushion
blessing misplaced in evenings umbra

my name is christened in a far off city
just as the fallen seraph descends capsizing my shaft
for at one time been suitable for glory
today contrived to squirm its way...

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