Kyla Pasha | Poetry

I don’t love you.
That’s not what I’m about.
I’m just walking on over.
I’m just listening for that sound
of armour breaking
till I get to where you are.

I don’t want to talk.
There’s nothing really to tell.
It’s all writ large in all my
wrecks anymore.
The rough is run.
I am flat land till I
get to where you are.

The side of the road
is the side of the road.
And I’m still listening for the sound
of engines running
people coming
still listening for that sound
when someone’s winning.

I can’t hear you.
Don’t raise your voice so loud.
It’s just the din of all my
noises leaving.
I’m coming over.
I’m coming to that sound
and maybe you’ll read me out loud.
Maybe you’ll say me like a spell
– soft crustacean, broken shell,
come out, come out –
and I’ll just come listen to that sound
that’s where you are.

Soft crustacean
Broken shell
Just come on out.