May 19, 2011
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A fear that’s new and translucent shines
Like monsters in my childhood closet.
It grips me abrasively, as it should, with a hand
Held brashly, yet delicately, on each arm.

My frightfulness trickles pleasantly down
My spine, as if I’m not really all that scared.
A fear that’s new doesn’t mean a fear that’s
Wrought, or in any way distraught. Or askew.

I grab it by the neck, I twist my shoulders abnormally
Back, letting my fingers slip casually through its hair.
I feel its power, through my bones beneath my skin
Like kings on thrones, it’ll shove me down. Or up again.

And if it releases me, I’ll ring out with majestic bliss:
“It has a heart!” I’ll say, with a kiss to seal my conjecture
But bonds of fear don’t break simply, without batter
I’ve come to know it so well in a moment, a night. Or after.

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