The pavements are hotter in winter, the rain never wets the asphalt and I never tell you to do anything else other than “be”.
And along with our bodies, the rage keeps on, / we chafe and bleed and clot and steer; / we go mad and nude
And in spite of knowing this/ In spite of the absurdity of it all/ You let yourself fall
Ask me not of Grief. For I have been burnt by its friendly fire with blood and bits of oozing mortal flesh spun flaky and ashen by its biting cold breath.
The trust you gain takes time.
Perhaps father was never taught to love.
While I fear whom you’ll become once you hear me, once you leave me.
from my blood fangs, disarrayed cold / looting my sore body / that has done so much for me, while I ached
I wonder where God sits in that tower. I wonder whose cries are louder.
The pavements are hotter in winter, the rain never wets the asphalt and I never tell you to do anything else other than “be”.
And along with our bodies, the rage keeps on, / we chafe and bleed and clot and steer; / we go mad and nude
And in spite of knowing this/ In spite of the absurdity of it all/ You let yourself fall
Ask me not of Grief. For I have been burnt by its friendly fire with blood and bits of oozing mortal flesh spun flaky and ashen by its biting cold breath.
While I fear whom you’ll become once you hear me, once you leave me.
Perhaps father was never taught to love.
The trust you gain takes time.
from my blood fangs, disarrayed cold / looting my sore body / that has done so much for me, while I ached
I wonder where God sits in that tower. I wonder whose cries are louder.
From moon beamed mountains To plains deltaic; In Diasporas–detached