nothing is certain but consequence,
and freedom when
the fact is seen
will we fly then?
trip the light
and give each other
permission to be
oriented to the eschaton
and its indifference
or will I pour another
sea of symbols
bitter as gall
siphoned from the failure
to see our alternatives
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and isolation made bulletproof
by a string of victories starting with
Why Do You Always
etched on bleak shorelines
beyond which I am
unable to taste the flavor of
my platitudes
a crust of ice and
every cliché a slip
of the knife into your blessed heart
that will one day stop
at arm’s length from bravery
like the line between us
viewed from safe distance
I am afraid of our value
beyond judgement
but sometimes I am more afraid
of throwing shade
and the subtle art
of stealing time
