Time to wake up. No one is a promise—a few are luxury,
like first time eating cotton candy—so rich, so sticky, so damn sweet! Sat there, watching God, he kept showing
out. Sat there, desperate to breathe, like gems in rubies the last tiger
gristle. So much to find us, like it can never happen, what happened to cross
God. I paid for it, kept carrying it, feeling like an apology. Sprinkled on
skeletons, a ditch of bones, sinews going crazy. Let the meaning suffice the
initiation; it can’t be because of the sin; it lives in the vocabulary, the
genre, the jargon. With souls, we say different things—with him, it’s privilege
versus wisdom—it’s goddess versus hog land. “Never-mind-you.” I was broken. Old
wisdom always hurts. It breaks into entities. It lives in spaces. It comes like
fire, so subtle, contradicting its disguise.
