sojourn, C.A. Allen


Untitled, London Bellman



I have been closer to the edge
than the edge itself;
I have swallowed plastic medications
and bled from the stillness in my
gut— the calm, in facing imminent

I have been awake in the late hours
and I have heard
the nightbirds screaming,
the stars dying,
the earth turning in a slow grind
on its axis.

I have lived through the many
successive deaths of my cells,
travelled dusty museums and bright lit
coffee shops to search for one thing only:

I have come for home,
because it is no longer the place I left, and it won’t be
where I’m going.

C.A. Allen

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