Day 10
I knew a gypsy girl who was jealous of the sky
She was strung to a balloon but tethered to the earth
And always aching from the wrench of it
She impressed on me a great many marvels, though
The stars held little sway in the bell of my heart
I'd nod and wonder at the chalky tremor of her
I became as a bowerbird, gathering eagerly
All the spectrum of my meagre talent, installing
Small, bright assortments at her feet
I wonder if she knew the way I clawed red
At pocketknife attachments, thinking one might
Pierce the skin of her - or my - disorder
What became of my stargazer? Did she achieve
A celestial ascension, resonating
Ultraviolet, on a plane not known to me?
Or did she brook a blue plummet, resigned
To the earth in all its mundanity
With the moon just a moth-bit bulb
I knew a gypsy girl, plump and purple
Like the juicy bruise of a cloud
Where I was but a shadow cast upon the ground
I was listening to Gypsy by Suzanne Vega
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