Arno Rafael Minkkinen
I swallow each plank
Mouth oblong, exacting
A splinter-filled well.
The distance
Between us is arbitrary,
An illusion generated
By our inability
To dismiss labels.
If truth does not conform
Then what will?
But truth does not
Always favor the majority
Sometimes only one
Rises to the cause.
If a fantasy the moral
Would breathe its very last
In the very first kiss
Living does not imply
Perfection, it is an art
Fueled with whatever madness
Ignites but does not wholly consume
The soul it confesses.
Steady hands struggle
To contain the pulse
And when the water rises
One cannot but scream.
To be human is to hunt
In the wreckage
For a weapon capable
Of defrocking these myriad veils
To be human is to drown
Whether above or below
Whether within or without
Sensation is not optional.
*
For
mindlovemisery 