i'm not wild about the following's style of poetry, but i'm interested in the idea of telling the truth...what do i do with pain? what do i write? what sound do i inscribe against pain? it's an interesting question, even. i have an opportunity, here.
the fall
is there a point
to regret?
that which
i have been
too damaged
to try, too
piecemeal
to
accept--
i write
words
that run
down the face
of the truth.
they have
little to do
with their own
beauty.
is there
anything
to regret--
anything,
truly,
to mourn?
the velvet husk
splits, torn;
the blossom
presses through;
i feed
its root
this mangled
tongue
and words
rain down,
split,
thrust through,
pulsing with longing.
is there anything
to regret?
is anything
so totally
lost?
no sunrise;
no sunset;
no wind, no
swift-fallen drop
of rain--
thank you, darkness--
thank you, hell god--
you prepare me
as a banquet--
you lay me out,
you turn me out
into a feast--
for within this
sucking
darkness
there is
a great
tenderness
that batters me
as a heart.
my love
unfolds.
my love
trains
my tears
to be
its own.
my love
meets
my mouth--
my love
sanctions
my end--
my love
invites
my fall.
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