Frustrated because of the surge that gets held.
Broken to pieces since not sparked enough.
We’re divine. We deserve better.
All your signs point to something because
every direction leads to significance.
If you remember to look back, if you remember
to be scared. If you veer with every beating scrap
of your heart. Inaction is the current most dangerous
position. I think I’m surrounded. One thing
repeated gives a most lovely context. My eyes
report back that the world is a mess & the tapestry
isn’t visible so the picture’s a wreck. But I choose
to confront it instead of surrender. I rage for order
when the waitress asks me, her voice
all expectant, her smile pointed. Out of two
obvious responses, I choose dumb singing,
a belief in belief. I almost don’t care what I’m saying
as long as it’s loud & full of some fire. Full of a mountain.
Not more empty sentences about being empty.
Hello there you happy people. I insist we are decent
when the machine tries to degrade us
I can’t be ironic since I’m always in earnest. Some snow
out the window. I pretend it’s roaring my song
with its thin, crystalline throat.
Cold is a feeling.
Language is a rift.