Tell me,
what does it take
to stand up
and speak
under the sign
of your father?
To point to that
whose life’s work
is to become
impossible to point
at? And to do
it now, just when
the last droplets
of hope tip from
the faucet. To stand
in the nested heart
of it all, church bells

Poems—@forgottenrunes @patriciancom @nounsdao Prose @nftnow @accelerateart and everywhere ✍️ She/her Punk6825 ❤️my channel: /whining Socialist🌹

they call crazy,
who say what
it is cruel to speak
of, who pin you
down with the
weight of plain
reality. No more
Omelas girls, not
ever, not even

if we need to learn
the brick and
the wheel from
scratch. We make
bowers for our
children, though
as of now they
are green shoots
in bare scratched

earth. There is
more than this
fugue state. The
hot sun, gold heads
of grass, and
the half-lidded sleep
of the lion.

ringing noon round
you, and say
from the inside,
my friends fell away,
with every secret
spilled. What does
it take to know
the whole world
is laughing at you,
and tell the truth
anyway? There are
those of us who