holding the guts twisted with baling wire;
finding intensity in bloodless eyes:
a peek of bone–
a glimpse of polished foundations.
(i always felt that worry would get me through)
rock hard underneath all the skin,
the hesitant organ that belongs to faith
and faith alone–
every other one
poking a finger at the calendar,
it goes around.”
but not the same spot:
never the same reasons!
we make fun–
to every ambulatory season.
do i seem scattered?
when your night is alone once again,
and tears don’t cry into a pillow…
no, not here:
they can’t afford to leap to such conclusions,
passed from mother to daughter;
billowing to greater heights.
sometimes i wish excitement were more human.
sometimes i bleed insanity, and blush distraction,
but i never got used to the anticipation.
the things you told me to be,
and the other things
(all those other things)
that i decided to own,
they are mine now:
skin and bone.
and i think a heart, that beats for the sake of rhythm,
complicates a mind that decided you were right;
you were right all along.