I am such a failure,
and I am echoing
the most refreshing
laughter during this recounting,
because while I wither,
I dumbly take
an interest in the gods.

They are right over there
just sort of swaying in the
magnolia blooms' creamy flow.
I believe their dance deciphers love,
but as agreed, I am too dumb
to understand. I only hope
that the new born's smile

upon my face, will beckon the rejoicing
of your tomorrows soon to come.

It was awkward when I stumbled upon my lover
as my intention was to be more coy,
but an ache jumped to the tip of my tongue,
and I tripped on the fat toe of desire.
Eye to eye, we are naked in love
falling as a gentle, spring shower
with all the power to waken
the slumbering hillsides of grass.

Your body is a fire
wrapped in flesh,
and the big lie
tells you -
"fear yourself."

So how can it be that my life
has not become a sweltering series
of orgiastic celebration?

I mean, I know from the recording
of my original passion that I've been
baptized in the obligation of surrender-

          "come to me woman and tell me
           are you of the sun or the moon
           come to me man and tell me
           are you of the land or the sea
           cause I love you dearly
           and I must know"

And yet, here I am still burdened
by the routines and the fears
for my children's fortunes.

I'm grateful and all, no doubt,
but I still refuse to hear death's call
until you and I perform our
          scandalous, sacrificial acts

that will force death to approach
with at least a little more candor,
at least pretending to be my friend.

And we led them there.
You can tell yourself otherwise,
but I know when my son talks
of drilling for an active shooter,
numb as waiting for a napkin passed,
that I have failed.

I know the annals of my promises to him.
I whispered them to him in the womb-
“I am very confused.”
“You might not want to be with me.”
“I will love you all I can.”
“I already love you all I can.”
“Sometimes I feel very
sorry for myself.”

I hope you can see this
for all that it really is-
the freakish spasms
of the white man finally dying.
If any part of you is
young, woman, or dark,
please, do not hesitate!

Please, save my son
from all the fears that the
powerful protect with guns.
I will be there with you,
but I have already failed
so I won’t be useful for much
asides as a shield
of rather flaccid flesh

proud of nothing much
asides from his life,
and my falling before
your march forward
into the dance of
more colorful light.

I understand why
there are militant guardians
patrolling the streets of sacrifice.

I know because I need to be pulverized, Boom!,
under the footsteps of their ferocious love,
because of all the insidious sins

I am trying to sneak into paradise
tucked under the folds
of my own good manners.