fallen between the abstract | a distant hallelujah
next to the cloves
I slip and am unsalvageable, but I know how
forgiveness is shaped even if I have never known
the scent of purity | lashing out at horns that
breed like passing streetlights before the fire ever began
nights
without fire, without heat | the estrangement
now named home, the fireflies of Connecticut
that move me from one flat of earth to the
next
never do I want to be touched on the shoulder
or feel a man’s breath close to my ear | my ego
might as well be a lightning rod, or a diagram
of how to be anything but blood, left to skulk
on grass covered linens while the deer watch
sinking under the cypress again, this is what
nature had to say
what is wilde is wilde and the knots will come in mouthfuls
my survival has declared this body as evil
