11:11

At 11:11

I will make a wish

that one day

my 11:11 wish won’t have to count,

won’t be some far off, preposterous thing,

that being a person,

first and foremost,

is about existing on Earth

and not in someone else’s wallet.

 

At 11:11,

I will make a wish

that all of my future wishes

come true.

Birthday cakes, eyelashes,

four leaf clovers–

send them all my way

and soon veganism will be widespread,

time machines will be real

and life will come with an automatic “pause” button.

 

I don’t want to leave

this time, this place

just yet.

 

The dollars we learned

to put above ourselves

back in 2017, 1999, 1776– they are far away.

 

Nothing to despair over.

 

It’s just 11:11:

four parallel lines

chasing after each other,

and never meeting.

 

August 27, 2017

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A Wish

I will convert,

for you,

twenty seven times over

in order to spin Earth’s axis

back to it’s original

position.

My secret haven,

original,

right,

cool to the touch

skin on skin

and I believe again

that I can win

when my feet are tired

two at a time

again

I wish it was you

holding the umbrella in the rain,

to kiss me goodnight

under some station light

I knew had flickered out

yesterday.

 

September 24, 2014