Parts Unknown
Sensed with my own Divine
Every once in a while I’ll clear the decks or pool in indecisive crap. Create voids, not empty, but filled with guck left over from a brain lost to its mind. Panic gets out the digging tools; from there the fight is on to save my soul.
It’s all my fault myself hanging from a thread. The barest streak-stripped ply: over the edge, a thousand feet up; stories unexplained.
Other ghosts, who vie for credit, push me around. They laugh and smirk as the fire flames higher. Poke my ribs till I bleed, throw a few thorns in my hair and say stuff like they can’t wait for Easter.
Just when my eyes start to melt, I wake up in a bed. Not my bed, that would be too easy no: fresh coffee smell, soft morning light, spiritual promises. The body of you in the kitchen, cooking with that old football shirt falling off your shoulders.
No, a bed. Too much time stunk deep into the mattress, stone cold walls where cannon slots let the ash in; screams down the hall coming on. There will be no end to the justification.
The ground becomes this thing I’ve never seen before. Maybe It’s time I settle into it.
Mikey, we can eat.
Silage replaced with white linen, glass-eyed china smothered over with scented Harissa — oh those…
