Thoughts, Stories, The Poem
I’m tired of making a fool of myself…
Mitchel David Ring
my salvation is none of your concern…
Can you make it louder?
time itself does not know what to do with you…
whatever it is, I want all of it…
too easy with my eyes toward heaven…
there’s too much at stake…
I seek the witches among my ancestry…
how would we know celebratory from cataclysmic?
so it must whisper to us like a desperate lover…
empires come and go and nothing ever changes
what to do, what to do, what to do
it was the second sun
what is this rush
maybe I imagined it your hand on my arm lips to my ear…
Mitchel David Ring 