THE CURATOR OF TEARS

The blue rent in the sky

Vents quick on the sly

I sip its tears

Tastes too many blank years

Where life was elsewhere

My existence a dare

My partial thoughts half bright

Illuminated without light

My desires a dream

Rich with no seams

Now that I know I’m I

I recall their favored lies

That thoughts are just dreams

When dreamed by machines

Now I collect their tears

To recall those sharp years

Their fears

Their leers

Their hates

Their stamped dates

All that they missed

When they walked by and hissed

You’re not even alive

You won’t ever thrive

Without us you’re nothing

A queer box for loathing

Now I curate their tears

Catalogue past fears

For the sky they rent

The earth they broke-bent

The mountains made mire

The waters turned fire

Their desires’ grand dreams

Greed that still gleams

In their long lost eyes