Photo Challenge #90 and Wordle #228

Curly Hair

I cried all night unraveling your invisible terrain.

By morning I was sober and ready to exist,

not in fractions but in pieces too large to swallow.

People rarely believe in things that they cannot

manipulate with their senses and even with belief

it is difficult living on the fringe with nothing

but one’s own friction for warmth. There is no justice

in this world, only misguided attempts at revenge.

I am sick, therefore I am culpable, and incapable of truth.

Some people beg because they live in a state of necessity

because they are desperate to recover whether or not

their flight patterns match the current patterns of migration.

There are files with my name on it that I have never read

and never will read. I imagine they are filled with words like

“dramatic” “ liar” “hypochondriac” “woman” and perhaps

those words pertain to me, perhaps they even oppose me.

I rake my fingers through your brutal black coattails

always following never entreating, an afterthought,

flickering in and out of conception. Against you,

the lover, I cannot win but against you, the enemy, I already have.

I lace my guitar with your entrails and my boots with your soul.

There is a weakness  in normalcy that we never speak of.

A fanaticism constructed and construed by ingratiating fear.


I am so distracted today. I have an important meeting on Wednesday and a case of crazy head. I don’t feel this is finished or coherent yet but I ran out of time.