there is no view from nowhere

i keep telling myself it was a mountain how it rose up in me and it blotted out the sky how i bent my knees without it asking if i am honest if i let the light fall where it refuses to fall it was never stone it was a filament a single trembling thread drawn across the mouth of a well and still i knelt to it i have made a liturgy of bodies sung myself hoarse at the altar of curves have mistaken hunger for revelation again and again their beauty like a blade no like a mirror i could not look away from even as it unmade me i said this is love this is need i said this is how a man becomes real but i was dissolving grain by grain into the heat of it there is a moment after you know the one when the room comes back wrong and the air tastes used and even your own hands feel borrowed and something in me weeps there not loud just a leaking because i see it then for one unbearable second the scale tips and what i called a mountain what i worshipped as inevitable shrinks smaller a hair a single human hair caught in the teeth of my wanting and i gave it my years gave it my breath i called it master i called it god how small it is how small i made it large and there is no view from nowhere no clean place to stand and judge the wreckage only this body this history these eyes opening too late the righteous will laugh they say astonished at the weight they once imagined but i am not laughing i am standing here thread in hand weeping because i could have broken it because it was always breaking and because i let it bind me anyway

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jack-jenkins

30 / M

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