(to go) as far as titles go

i can still see the lacquer and paint strokes
like finishing touches
on the ceilings and walls
and the hands that bore them almost, through the passages of time

and i draw these words the same
that coat the house built
by god and man
that he chose to live in by his accord of his own words

he each has something to sell
either it is one or it is many a-things,
we like to seem contemporary

but none of this has changed, “a man said”;
the bigger the better we all say in our own way (even a lie)
but what is whole lives and is remembered forever
however it doesn’t seem to rhyme, trembling—
every slightest thing is recorded
to its final-most crumbling detail

then let this be the last breath of poetry
i ever wrote unless it’s on my heart
and i speak it with every step

forgive me, if i’ve troubled you
with this Other Thing I seem to still carry around with me, again,
it’s just that you’re the highest my voice has ever reached on earth, in all honesty,
and maybe you know where to throw it to where others might listen
(if anyone on earth still does)

Omar I

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