Aoling Zhang

And I am  

Still— I am still 

In the eye of the (g)pyre, 

 

“I am still— I am still trying to—” 

Knock(ing) 

On glos-sed glass doors 

Where skies overcast itself; 

“No more, no more!” 

 

It whispers 

Seven 

Bang(s) 

Bang(ed) 

Then reigns 

Repeats 

 

Throngs red 

Refulgent 

Refuse such to 

curlicue (de)feat 

 

“I am still— I am still trying—” 

 

(To) Scrub damned spots off 

Their Crab-bed feet 

As they walk, 

Outpace(ing) me 

Outpace(d) me! 

 

“I am still— I am still—” 

 

Brother Antipholus, is that you I  

See 

Under the small  

Teeth 

Of this curs-ed 

Key? 

 

And if then there were 

Only  

Hands 

To pick— 

Or an  

Arm 

Welded to these 

Pits— 

Or if only 

My feet weren’t 

 

So weak 

 

You’d be only a 

Reach 

And so 

All I can do is 

Speak— 

 

“I am still—” 

 

Under these sheets 

Turning and tossing to sleep 

In a pyre’s 

Updraft of 

Winds turned higher 

And higher 

Into a widening (g)yre 

 

And declare 

 

“I am still—” 

 

And declare 

 

“I am still—” 

 

As they dance 

With the shadow 

Of the fires 

Throw their hands 

Up at me— 

Their knees  

Down 

At me none the 

Wiser I’d think  

Them pray; 

 

 

And how am I 

To deny 

 

Its teeth 

Between my teeth 

As I try to grit mouth into metal 

Only to find 

A beckoning of 

Pillows and sheets 

 

And declare 

“I am still— I am still— I am still trying to be—”