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something is affirming that life is what it's supposed to be
ebbing between hopelessness and hope as if reminding me
that this is what it's like to have a fleeting sense of being
too sad to be living, and too happy to be agreeing
with the notion of art being something to express an inner voice
your hands and throat are shaking, thought it never was your choice
you never grew up knowing that a heart can break at any sight
you felt a hand go limp in yours, you saw an owl in the night
there is something glowing in your chest that's dulled by the screaming on the 3rd channel static buzzing in your skull
about the need to breathe and touch and die and sleep
while an old woman on the bus represents all the things you can't keep
and hold together long enough for your sleeping hands to touch
you're wanting an incorporeal something to be the crutch
of holding what your patchwork tin mind always tries to
it is what it is but what it makes you think of slides through
like sand grains counting, amounting to nothing
but what the past was, and through that, brushing
the glass walls to see there's a world more to life than hindsight
existing on the edge of a new moment despite
the fact that you're feeling in a different world than walking
and connecting thoughts like dry-docked hearts chalking
and out line between what you want and what's before you
smiling until it hurts, not afraid of being seen through
your bones on display empty except for tears
shed over how your heart will be forever far from here.


from His Irreparable Innocence, released September 18, 2011



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