There is no incision
That does not compromise its host.
I thought I might bleed today,
Drag my ancestors
From their common red graves,
A séance where no one speaks
Their secrets are safe in me
Perhaps repeated but never staged.
I am the jar, the chalice,
The latched box
Inside of me even darkness laments.
Those who live in the gutter
Brew in the piss of their benefactors
Those who live in the gutter
Never forget that foremost
In their composition are stars.
The clouds are my anchors
I flicker as a man
Approaching death
In another war
I might have been a gun
A solider, a limping child
I might even have been a stone
Mute, encrypted,
Worshiped in retrospect.
I am not limited to what I perceive
Some days I curse and others sow
There is naught to do but ascend
But I’ve done my fair share of tunneling
Hope is always stronger
When there is no where else to go.
You may find me ignoble, wanting
You may scoff at my suffering
My education, the tenor of my constructs.
I am proof of your excess
Proof that a smile heals
What antiseptic can only bleach
Proof that love is endemic
And that when there is nothing
Left to give, there is still more
Than enough to share.
mindlovemisery 