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Many times I thought I was so close to the castle I could hear snoring, but then I was back on the road to my house, naked and scratched all over, the sun greeting me with its laughter. The forest cards all these things from us and straightens them for the pleasure of all beaks, and the princess when she awakens from her endless sleep. We leave behind our hair, our clothes whatever we bring the forest catches: our curses and conversations, the fanciful speculations we foster in place of dreams. The forest will not burn, and all the paths inward always turn around and around until you’re trapped, or they will throw you out if you’re not worthy of dying in there. There are berries everywhere if you are hungry, and soft spots where you can lie still and pretend to be asleep. The forest is crowded with beaks, we hear them trilling as we get closer.
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#Soft thorns poems about love full#
The forest is full of thorns, long as swords the brambles are thick as ropes. I think he used to live with me, but when he sees me trying to recognize him all he says is “no no no I won’t do that anymore!” and he runs ahead of me. I look at him more closely I should know him. He says, as kindly as possible, “Because I, myself, died a long time ago.” A man next to me says, “You have to be careful: if you can’t sleep, and you die, you’ll stay awake forever.” The moon is full, all of us who cannot sleep are on the road to the castle. I know in her hands she holds the spindle of sleep – if only I could reach her, I could sleep too. Like everyone around here, I can’t sleep I’m drawn to the forest, the brambles and thorns that surround the castle of the sleeping princess.