been thinkin' of Albert
and all things bitterly angelic,
wonderin' how many others
like me
hurt like our Mother
hurt like the Other
aching without knowing where.
Avalanched landscape riptides,
our chemicals surge and freeze
behind our ears,
making us dizzy, despondent.
So we swallow, snort, smoke, or slam-
are born again
genocide,
philanthropize,
or miser-ize.
The only time you get to steer
is when it's your turn
and you are THAT HIGH,
where each word out loud is so booming,
so brimming with meaning,
so endless it's heavy.
The only time you feel alive
you're not. You're God.
I called my mom once and asked how she was.
It was the only morning she'd ever woken up
without wishing she hadn't.
I'm still hoping for
one of those mornings.