Poem: Another Kind of Survivor Story

algonquinbird4

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You, a Palimpsest

You author reality with metaphors

and verb to make a living

while the ghost writers circle

like carrion birds, waiting to rip

your soul from your flesh.

You, a palimpsest, have shed

covers, switched genres, crossed out

every adjective you used to be;

and I, your avid reader, await

your next page, enthralled

and close to tears, overlooking

your plotholes.

You, a Fractal

You pull yourself in, deliberately,
abruptly peaceful in your fate: being
a minuscule point of space, a short line through time.
You call it progress but I resist,
caressing the dials of my perceptions 
to watch you bloom
in all directions, infinitely, like a fractal-soul,
which is, after all, just a point, a line,
multiplied forever. Or
in other words, your full potential.