Speak to me of Many

Standard

Speak to me
About the folding
Of the universal
Selves into
The corners
Of the shelves
Under the furniture
Behind the backs
Squeezed into cracks
Of none can see us
Not to know
The details
Of the seeds we stow
Away secrete
To save from days
Of drab erasure
All the ways
We heed to save our selves
One day
From this reductive
Creed of one reality
To cede another moment
Pushing out the other
Simple sum of one existence
In a turning turgid
Of one heavy earth
Around one sun
Oppressive in a single sky
And one approaching day
Of culmination we
Are born to die
A lie in lieu
For we are many selves
In slew of truths
We cannot tell as yet
Nor know the meaning of
The multitudes in tongues
So magical with languages
We’ve yet to speak.

© K J barr

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