faux_shizzle

Another full day of labor, and yet
i'm in love,

all else, well
it's all so secondary

The ice outside
that crackles with our footsteps -

The mail hidden door to door
in dormant dry spaces

The faces of men and women wearing
attire for the post-industrial tundra

lost in the serendipity
of their primitive foraging
for warmth and property.

*

The wind behind the screen
forming age ridden topographies -

the typography stolen from
the whim-shaped gods made of

perforated metal and air
meandering around all that matters..

Unless some nameless effort effaces possibilities within the null
and the number of numbers overall, truncated
blunders of a continuum that does not exist,
represent all that I have written prior to knowing you
having exhausted the language capable of describing
the intensity of feeling that is created with thoughts of us
as a unit of joined parts, the team matriculated
when you and I become we, conjunctive
conundrums in and of ourselves,
joined by synchronicity and sense
having found myself paltry
in the power to describe
the palpitations of my heart
pull closers so that I may
project them inwards towards yours
that they may live forever reminded
of that symmetrical language of the blood,
thicker than water
carrying all we have,
breath after breath.

On the road to Damascus
a nomad passing through an angelic Amityville
avidly in need of direction, sporadic
illusions of pavement on the south side
of becoming lost
& that is how many meet
head on, face to face in a dream
that saves you
replenishes the spirit of waking
not writhing.


*


But not me, nope, that’s not really
how me and “the jeez” met.

I met him through
a heretic named Jim –
true story - one
that let gay people get married
and allowed women
to distribute
the body of Christ at communion
later excommunicated.
what was communicated in the light
and frightened into its own very narrowed
definition of ethos
at the early age of eight,
urged by desire to make scapegoats
of my errors and the aura of others
as they decided right
and wrong
in a world
illogically opposed to moral hazard
wired on its own alertness and altruism
I went awry early

Gnarly
conceptions of good and evil
boll weevil their way into your veins
your brains, the department of motor
neuron vehicles

needles in the arms of armored men,
adornments –
the ornaments of cadence
ahhrythmic
sense of decadence
and ornate erasure of tenements

And yet of all these encumbered events
what surrendered the most meaning
lay behind the consequence of
suffering time to make sense of the
catastrophic
chances of syntax
uncorrected, unscathed
by its followers?

&

What you believed
was the unbelievable.

That’s what was so beautiful.