It wasn’t the leather, the etched letters,
the supposed natural state, that water is just water
discredited,
but what is just
has been dissolved like an oral tablet.
The state is
what it wants to discard.
[Someone hands me a counterfeit bill.]
The whimper remains.
Centuries of sameness.
Chase me —
what’s your number? What’s your name?
Equal to harmony,
we are fuck-ups.
Marmoreal, our mistakes,
and how loud I was
to myself when someone was lying.
Lost creations [we had no space in the luggage]
replaced by a collective thought that fills
the terrazzo flooring,
and its message
the sound of a hidden note in an old clay pot.
The bits of marble and concrete spread further out.
You, on my chest. Wisdom over music and dance.
Plato's Republic by Lauren Hilger & Dionissios Kollias | Poetry Reed Diffuser
$15.00Price
