in the calm, low afterglow

professional dreamer
i unpack the boxes
that contain the most fragile
pieces of my(self) great grandmother’s china
bone, she said
the ash strengthening the clay
before firing away

i was a target for the
gods of mischief and chaos
(or perhaps i was one of them
and cut my ties before
trouble got the better of me)

but still in the calm i seek storms
and still in the light i seek dark
but still in the dawn i transform
and still in the night i make sparks

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