our lives twist and turn
ebb and flow

our past
the knuckles of twigs to branches
the snake of a meandering river
creating lakes,
a hand and a reflection of
current state

there was beauty there -
nervous bodies collapsing
on each other, peacetime
handsaws dividing time
like honorary saints

we harpooned chaotic hopes
and dreams, orphaned our logic,
made love in a tree under glittering
moons

if only it was
so poetic

really, just cannibalistic
lonesome ******
looking for an angry fix
vultures aflutter for a carcass

perhaps that was me
not you, no matter

our magnetic climaxes
of mind and flesh only
bloopers of lives just
begun

now
holding my daughters in these
hands, my hands, smugglers of
truth and lies, i hold blind hope,
whisper conspiracies in their ears:

“the only way to win is forgiveness and love,
religion is a man’s fairytale they’d like you to believe,
the apocalypse will be man’s not god's,
politics is a man’s excuse for action,
love is a man’s lie for ***,
poverty is a man’s idea of justice,
war is a deformity of man’s making,
thank god you’re a woman!”

our disfigured past has
changed the genetic genome
of unimportant history, given me voice
and perspective

i can’t be sorry,
for the lies i’ve told,
the love and hate i’ve wrought,
its the greasy yarn of my soul
i weave in a simple shack of promise,
that, they’ll be better than me

i can’t be sorry