the tell-toll patience
it’s deafening silence
sends prickly heat
through the shaft of my spine;
those nights of confusion
and indigo questions
throb through my skull at
inopportune times.
i want the consumption
the raw devastation
that patience and virtue
must leave behind;
so travel me further
past bottle-green grottoes
and quench the frustrations of
decisions untimed.
2.7.92
© Eliza Alys Young
