fiber of ice and sun
this fiber of ice and brittle wind threaded upon my chin it is not there to mark my pending vanish from these cities, but rather to say to you i know a few things, will you ask me?
ask me about the people i wished dead but who now are my friends.
wonder with me about how it is i lived to this ripe nice age.
ask me why i was okay with siring children spread across many fields.
ask me what i wept about in my early forties, for weeks on end.
ask me why i held a shotgun to my chin when my mother was not looking and i resided again upon her doorstep.
ask my why that same shotgun was ready to implode upon any blue do-gooders who came to scoop me up.
ask me how i finished my ritalin and percoset days, shaking many white powders out of my hairs to live till a time where these whiskers would take their place.
let me tell you how again i returned to a time where jesus would revisit these large lips.
ask me how i forgave.
ask me how i believed in humility again.
i won’t tell you if you don’t ask me.
i know all the reasons that probably won’t work.
just like you know the reasons you hesitate in that swellful chest of your’s to know what i know
just like you also know, if you do not ask me, you might not make it for the ice of survival to find those cheeks of your dark and somber eyes.
but ask any ways, maybe you’ll tell me something I also need to remember
what a world.
this place where breath is always another chance to recommand your soul to stop fidgeting so much, and to sit a while longer in the sun of redemption.
can’t you feel it.
i hope you do.