moving day

how quickly you have become my home
how soon i have learned your scent
like a child or an abandoned puppy.

and how quickly i have begun to construct
a shelter around you
a shelter of you.

how often already i have wished
for a stronger arm, a stronger soul
to bring to bear on those stubborn pains
which i hope you are ready to leave behind
because they are taking up space in the rooms
of my new home, and i am a great thrower-away
of things no longer needed.

secretly enjoyed

8. Being rejected. It gives me a chance to practice my generosity: my overtures weren’t accepted but maybe the very offering was a needed gift. And would I begrudge that, even to someone who doesn’t know how to decline gracefully, how to navigate the weird, tidally-complex waters between greed (for affection, for being wanted, for love) and self-denial (for the sake of the wished-for One who hasn’t yet arrived on-scene)? I wouldn’t: people are hungry; they sometimes can’t help but take the nourishment from your hands and then run. Give it, if you want to avoid having it stolen.

Read: Thought Catalog.

delivery

i had hoped to mail you something, some small token
in payment on the debt, some small proof that i was
what you were looking for, but in the end this was all
i could think of to send to you that meant neither more
nor less than i intended it to. in case you can't tell,
it is what it looks like. a small piece of cardiac muscle
no more, no less, sorry about the mess in the envelope
and the jagged cut, i'm unskilled at this kind of scalpelry.
the symbolism of words has failed me but at least
there is always recourse to the literal.
take it, another little piece
take it, it is my body
take it and eat it
as you would the heart of a fallen enemy
or that of a lion killed in a battle you never meant to happen.
 

daybreak

[...]

i cannot help
but feel you’ve given me the chance to bury my dead
mass my last troops and gather my final strength
so that your victory may be absolute. but mine is
a guerilla war

[...]

Read: Underground Voices, September 2012 [direct link]

harvest weather

i have eaten
six perfect peaches this season
this summer that i met you.

that's five more
than are possible in one summer
and it's august yet.

will you also bring
wild, lush grapevines in december
sweet corn in march?

stay
show me
and stay.

[ [ [ war ] ] ]

I am

an operative

sent to live out this life with a minimum of disruption; to carry out its duties, accept its small rewards, all the while pursuing my real objective, the nature of which is so secret that even I

do not know it.

I am

set against myself

brother against brother; painstakingly thwarting myself, then celebrating my brilliant sabotage of the enemy; handing out punishments, then complaining bitterly of their unfairness.

I am

the charismatic despot

ruling with white fingers clenched tight; I am the leader of the revolution; I am the secret police; I am the spy turned double agent; I am the protestors

dying in the streets.

the first thing

the first thing you will find out
is that they are all starving.
you will need all your mother instincts
to bear their ravenous appetites
their urgent, ungentle handling.
you will need to remember
that they are near to panic:
cool-casual but running on empty
for so long. feed them first,
then wait to see what men live
beneath those hunger pains
so constant that they go unnoticed
until you invite them to
a feast.