Deus Ex Machina

oh, to have 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 to notice up high

startle my droopy eyes to see a tip of a branch

that could have a fresh bud among the balded ones

in spite of a rampike that stood as my timeline

oh, to have 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 to graft it to their garden

have that again, a viridescence of my youth

before I succumb to the defiled ground that took it

be a place, to build a coffin and be buried

oh, to have 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 to retrace my palm creases

stupefy my pessimistic psychic. for she became a catalyst

to an impending prophecy. I believe she's a witch

she bottled my ability to sleep and dream

oh, to have 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 to realign those too

like how they reconstruct the city road bridges, thoroughfares

for a better flow of traffic, so when I roam I wouldn't mind

where the pin had drop, autopilot, just lungs to an open wind

oh, to have 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 to read my poems, or letters

those I addressed to pit of midnights I had digged

but now hear, not just an echo but a voice murmuring

"I get it". that there is a legibility after all in the scribbles

oh, to have 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 to tear those apart too, burn perhaps

and its soot be as ink, to write once more but with a co-author

flipping a fresh page, right to left, with trace lines for my slant hand

never again in narrow spaces from previous leaves I tolerated

oh, to have 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 to come a clear, sharp subject

in my locked-in lens of days, bearing just only blue bokeh

I'm not a good photographer, I'd say, but it might be

a good cause to reframe my gallery, my style for some portraits

oh, to have 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 to sleep next to, breathe in my face

the same manner that our plotted plants puffed outside

in nightfall that flatter me that this isn't the same home

but someone elses finally. that I could brew myself a coffee

without a ponderous balcony for the tangling of a new installed post

but oh, to have 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 to make me forget everything at all

smack me in head into coma and be amnesiac

all past, I'd written in references of wars, torture, gore—

I'm blessed without, to make sense my sores.

except this new one, a sting of beauty I'm situated

that paradoxically shift my fate

and with that, to want to have someone too is painful

I guess forget everything I just said

but perhaps if they could do a complete erasure of memories

I could have them, a someone or something, other than me

that, oh,

to have 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 to be awoken for in a hospital room, on my bedside, snoring in gold daylight

then startle their droopy eyes after mine

let them warm my palm and

by that I know

I don't have to have queries of "who am I?" "who are you?"

but who I can and will be—a new someone for somebody who'll be with me