So far gone now.                           So far.
Gone beyond the pale. Every shadow too bright.
every star sieged by darkness.
I scream back a demand to know


No ill will here. Just good
                                    Old Testament anger for sale.
All day, every day.  Emotions throb real. More red than
the pain of a new wound. Flail arms and strike back
                                                                           at the Light.


Beyond my window, the sycamore has been trying to write
its name on the wet grey of morning.  The colors bleed
a trail to the ground. A shrift that turns from green to red.
Shocks of monkey grass peep curious heads from baked dead clay.


Charges of selfishness are proffered by those who hoard
Leviathan fears. Such cascading betrayals never cease
and always astonish
                             supplicants folded down
                                                                in prayer.


All morning my breath has been panicked like the wail of sirens
singing their mechanical opera of death. This pilgrim blue yelp
leaves a bruise that won’t heal  Each night it paints its black fist
across the sky. With my thumbs tucked inside a flat pestle of want
I tamp away the flesh of my palms to make      a space for calm.

Stay my hands so they may one year know my mind.

make me know
                       the worth of living beyond this pain.
Having become more than my name can hint at
I turn a slow head     without answer     in recognition of the sound.
I am a landlocked fish dreaming of water. Kill me now
or let me believe in the roar of the sea.