When you lean on providence as the arbiter of your fortunes, then your fortunes have been decided not by your qualities but by circumstance inherent to your birth.
To be so juvenile as to direct your appreciation for your fortunes externally, and particularly toward the divine, shows a lack of design. You receive of life rather than act as creator.
The ones who slave, the ones who doggedly toil. The ones who see through the grates in the gutter and claw our way to the streets to even begin to walk free of the stench and putrefaction you lay upon us in your most casual activities—we are a Godless lot.
We envy and despise your pursuits. And when we walk through your world, finally, it is frantic. It is frenetic. It is joyful and hateful and ripe with pain and passion and we lay our praise, our worship at our own feet. And we will hear your praise. Again and again.
To belong in your world is to burn inside. With love, with revulsion and with power. Beware when we walk among you, for we will see you bow, yes we shall. Beware of the day when we walk among you en masse. On that day, no God, no karma, no twisted fate will design your fortunes. It will be I and she and he and they, and we shall not be so kind.
I am a smooth surface.
I am a number of hiding places.
I am meat, I am bone and
I am anything but my own.
I remember the days when Summer was high and stuck between your legs, the nape of your neck, under your arms and none of us smelled too pretty. Our friends were whomever walked with us down the street and eventually we made quite a crowd picking up new faces in old places.
We made our way to the sand in our drunken revelry and danced to music to which we never knew the words, we sang it wrong knowing in the morning we’d have forgotten we sang at all. The big wave was coming and that meant everything was in for a change and some of us wouldn’t make it.
We watched eagerly and locked hands and reminded ourselves and one another that we were all in this together.
Just as the water came, nearly breaching the shore, I looked about to find myself friendless. To find that I’d been solo dancing all that time and those old cobblestone streets had been empty since before I was a thing that could recall a thing. And out there on the great sea rose my twisted fate and tears in eyes, arms wrapped around my own shoulders I faced it as I’d always been: utterly alone.
Give me a body, fresh like a ripened apple, the mind of a philosopher,
prayer and faith to sheath the gutting blade of doubt and ***** the flame of hellfire.
Give me love, deeper than the soil beneath our feet,
and a parting kiss when the day is undone by night, the light undone by dark and this temporal life undone by death.
There is a hollow
embedded in the thick
of my mind.
Through it, no light comes.
From the darkness, yesterday
whispers in known voices.
The cold dawn of tomorrow
breaks on a black sky, and I am anchored along the edges of a fracture.
Gunmetal-grey seats stained glossy red
like a blood moon peeking through
back road evergreens.
West Virginia stars crossed over a tangled
tapestry of broken glass and dead flora, reeking
like Jack, patchouli and Virginia Slims.
Buxom, blue lips breathing white steam
on a cracked mirror, looking back on a
cold mountain where the January air
was only foggy for a moment.
The valley where my absent shadow guides
Is cloaked in twilight, drenched in taunting mirth
I follow where the night from day divides
That lent the shadows both their death and birth
I kiss the sky, who breathes through lungs, below
Whose northern wind delivers ash to eyes
That brush my cheek goodbye, then onward flow
While rain drip drops as sunlight cries
A cool, white mist surrounds the silent glade
Her lacy fingers tug my still wet ears
Within her breadth I see my shadow wade
She leads me on to where the thicket clears
She there reveals her pale cadaver skin
Like mine, with crimson lips, she’s paper thin
— The End —