Life is cagey, filled with caution,
the survival of the apes. The secrets we keep, the face we save, most are
surprised when it leaks out. I know I’m with error, full pledge terror, looking
at it. Much is true, the secret kept, no one needs inside what plagues the
observant. Not my faith, dangling from the edge, the cliff laughing; not my
pride, the soul dying, didn’t shave those days. Amazed to hear the pain, to
sense the confusion, to have wilderness—the curse of the winner, to break
silence, to sense abuse. Some ache that way, privileged to die that way, loving to
the best of their ability. Easing into the storm, walking the asphalt, the
heavens watching; a million in a kiss, the way we love, the false admiration.
Lord, a soul crawled, another smiled, now the tables turn; in one space, the
guffaw, in another space, the terror, the soldier at war—as keeping home, as
deeper damages, with growth seeming intolerable. A person will stare, glaring
through eyes, trying to resuscitate. More a prayer, a salient wake, the pillow
on the essence; to take a nap, the stars at mercy, the moon coming to earth,
the spirit touching the universe; hanging inside, looking at his ghosts, making
friends like estranged from heart—and needing himself.
