let it be life,
every lesson, each blessing, dirty, like filthy.
it was nine at
night, a truck opened, three on a word, touched his arm, got ties with Satan—I lucked
up, different humility, like a backwards theologian, to die early, how to know,
eating skylights?
too angry, made
dizzy, can’t wait to hit mountains—a camp bag, a campfire, Love is sicker than me.
changing thoughts,
arranging life, got it bad, others, good, knowing many remain angry—to hate
self, animosity with God, never too much mirror time.
I looked like
flint—it was delusion—something kept moving—a shift in thoughts, a miracle to
see it, can’t believe in much.
days gnaw like
redundancy. nights feel familiar. at evening, we heard heaven’s bells—the knell
for many, the pit bull barking, next to a papaya tree.
needing it made humble,
feeling wild, nothing to satisfying invisibility—angels nearby, deliverance
seeming second to minute, made accountable for every word spoken/written.
