Sometimes we stop trying.
We sit back, and let it come.
And I like this softer side of
effort, washing water over
stone, slow and powerful and
steady.
There is not just one thing
I can say that I am
My waters flow wildly
Uncontrolled by some dam
Take this pair of scissors
And carefully snip my seams apart
Remove the thread of these sutures
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I wonder if God, coolly watching from the stars,
sees me here
alone at my kitchen table, lit by my one yellow candle,
dim warmth on a green-black avocado, purple eggplants
and dusty potatoes crusted in dirt,
a lumpy smallish pile on the scarred table.
I watch you rip your body with a visceral rage, in the name of what? Attacking the very parts of yourself that will keep you alive. What is this body without a head? What is this pulpit without hands to praise or legs to lift?
Read MoreInnocent bystander
lying in a radiance of light
flickering fire feeds the desire
what i saw on my walk across campus
men walking.
women tugging. pulling. adjusting.