{"id":10983,"date":"2015-06-13T20:09:42","date_gmt":"2015-06-14T00:09:42","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/?p=10983"},"modified":"2015-06-13T20:09:42","modified_gmt":"2015-06-14T00:09:42","slug":"poem-12-down-to-earth","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/2015\/06\/poem-12-down-to-earth\/","title":{"rendered":"Poem #12: Down to Earth"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>I will say anything.<br \/>\nSay anything, and keel over from a tongue<br \/>\ntoo heavy to taste the fabric shafts of words.<br \/>\nPreferably anonymous to the receiver,<br \/>\na barista who will never see me again and wonder why<br \/>\nthose words suffered to be held in a chest so long.<br \/>\nRubbing my hands together, the dead skin like<br \/>\nkneaded sand, and I leave it.<br \/>\nThe world a knotted sphere to sew my debris.<br \/>\nI can bend freely with the earth<br \/>\nand its blanketed creases, enfolding,<br \/>\nthen smooth, as we as children curl,<br \/>\nhide in it tufts.<br \/>\nEvery morning my eyes out the window to the west,<br \/>\nyet any cardinal direction woukd led me to you.<br \/>\nMy eyes in orbit around the room.<br \/>\nI have to rub my eyes like a child to stay awake.<br \/>\nMy elbows tilted, sleeves up past the joints,<br \/>\nproving to myself the earth entrenched beneath<br \/>\nthe Saran-wrapped skin.<br \/>\nWe end up in love with the hate that binds us,<br \/>\nthe mutual sludge to keep our bones in their molds.<br \/>\nIf I were a pilot, would I be able to smell<br \/>\nthe chloroform of Heaven wafting down?<br \/>\nBut I am grounded, desiring, or my blood straying<br \/>\nfrom its conditional flow, oblivious.<br \/>\nWanting then, my hand to be knit out of yours,<br \/>\nlike the clasped palms of maple leaves<br \/>\non Front Street, together budding, falling,<br \/>\ndeteriorating. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>I will say anything. Say anything, and keel over from a tongue too heavy to taste the fabric shafts of words. Preferably anonymous to the receiver, a barista who will never see me again and wonder why those words suffered to be held in a&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":281,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-10983","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-marathon-poem"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10983","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/281"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=10983"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10983\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":11123,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10983\/revisions\/11123"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=10983"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=10983"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=10983"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}