I live in the space between two snowflakes.
Surrounded on all sides by the thorns
of wonder and beauty,
piercing my side and spilling water in
its most ferocious and least glorious state.
Sparkling, splendid dreams wrapped
in crystal, wrapping me up,
and I am buoyed by the emptiness.
Do I elevate the shine?
And if I do, does the shine belong
in the sky? - I know I do.
And when the ice around me falls
and is trampled underfoot,
I am released from my pretty prison
and live again among nothing -
where I belong -
unique in all the world.
The State of Things...
I always seem to find myself in this situation
About Me
- Paul Morales
- Try as I might to breathe and bleed beautiful poetry, I live in the space between a vine and a virus. When my verse is good, it gives the world a foothold, and readers scale walls and reach new heights because of it. My poems ensnare people and pull them into shockingly beautiful and beautifully delicate places. But when they’re bad, my poems sit and fester like old food. Fungi grow on their deadness and their smells infects the air around them, until readers choke on the stink of my mediocrity. My only hope is that the strapping vines of my good poems will dig into my wrists and never let go - and slowly, maybe, it will pull me from the knee-deep pool of years of failed attempts at genius.