Pick Your Poison

Inside Love and Looking Out

As though our parallel fates were conspiring to tempt and temper in cohesion,
I too saw the sun rise and fall over the heads of such primal thirsts.

It is just too fucking ironic; or perhaps, like a weighted scale
tipped in all's favor, we are still tied at the ankle.

Like a slingshot's rotation around the Earth in all this empty space,
sent rocketing through eternity by the explosive tenderness
that compensated for the damage absorbed by my tiny giant body,
I have landed in the desert after one hell of a journey, only to find utopia.

They are in love out here, and I am but a vessel.

Unending celebrations were cut short and resumed, to trumpet the irony
of the forward pull of eternity, pushing and writhing like a fetus
sent to abandon incubation... only to find utopia, in ruins.

But we built back its temples, and then summoned its gods;
shining more brightly for its charmingly apparent battle wounds,
the city lived and breathed with renewed self-amnesty.

They are in love out here, and I am but a vessel.


torch's flame
would caress my fire;
in forest's wind
i become the mulch;
points of light
like our canopy's worship;
bodies freed
set afloat by the dawn.