Tears swell, thinking of goodness, surprised last year
was so raw. We tatted flesh, shot dice, drinking into a new liver. Another is
gorgeous, I muse her name, never as complete as desire—those lights flashing,
doing a million down south, trying to laugh again. We lose sight, life hurts,
we believe the unthinkable, and God was listening. I shield a self, it’s too
dramatic, so ostracized, I hear it in eyes. I know it’s wrongness, mother was a
charm, I can’t let the memory slip away. Ocean to sky. Deceit inside. Where a
man tricks his mirror—if but to exist, if detailed in dirt, the filth in
dreams. I hit a corner, leaped inside, asked too many questions, usually,
silence is loud enough; gut gear, outside is father, I asked his name—so new, a
white stone, the blood trickling. Hair of wool, feet made of bronze, to forgive
70 x 7 times a day. I relived Hosea. I
took faith in Jeremiah. I lamented like a soul was ancient. To walk in decency.
To commit infraction. To cross waves with one too obscure to adore. Last dice
run. Last Newport. Many a death the living.
