I went to the church
to put a little bit of god in me,
but god was greedy today.
my mortal mind
felt it.
trees canted down to say hello
in their winter-grieved way,
on the way home. a hundred little
fingers asking for a chance
that wasn’t mine to give.
they shook with the roar.
I guzzled down every liquid in
the kitchen to soothe
the red of my esophagus,
but it only led to milk
and rum and wine and half a
carton of chicken broth
rolling around
in my innards,
an angry soup.
a galaxy of
poison.
the fever
didn't go away.
it looked like half-
baked art in the
toilet bowl.
I had to unclog it.
Autumn is a controlled wildfire:
nature selectively burning its excess,
preparing to conserve energy for the cold
and create room for the birth of spring.
I can see my inheritance every time I look in the mirror –
how my left eye is larger than my right
and my jaw was once too small for my teeth
or how my face always seems to betray
the anger that pulses just below the surface
Darwin was not so kind to me with the better qualities,
but if I open my arms and expose my true nature
then maybe I can bleed out the half of me that came from you
and hold some pride in the traits that remain after
These bridges were forged with careful consideration,
balancing the bounties they bestowed
with the vulnerabilities they created
just to be destroyed with reckless haste,
myopic confidence leaving only a disfigured trace
of their fallacious foundations
It never takes long to burn
but the salvage can take a lifetime
Not all predators are natural,
but that doesn’t stop them:
from hunting the soft curve
between your jawline and clavicle,
from hoping that you won’t notice
the murderous spark in their eyes
They still offer the same comfort as a black widow,
ready to strike when their good deed is done.
I may not be religious,
but that does not mean I am untouched
when holy buildings burn and relics become lost
human history existed in those bones
and I am still human.
I once believed you were the epitome of men:
the strength of Atlas
with a heart touched by Aphrodite
but you were really no better than Dolos:
crafting an elaborate imitation of expectations
and passing it off as the real Aletheia
Sometimes, love is a violent thing --
first expanding as a supernova
and burning everything it reaches
then imploding into a black hole
and extinguishing everything it absorbs