Sometimes we stick our feet in it
and squish it all around;
sometimes we fall head-first in it
and that is where we’re found,

facedown, grasping blindly
for someone who will kindly pull us
from this hole, wayward moles in need of
vision (self-derision, maybe mental
circumcision) and direction. What’s perfection
but chimeric brain pollution?

In ablution lies salvation, washed
of frustration, of encrusted expectation:
make a mess, clean it up–
I confess…
I fucked up.


When the heart beats, the heart bleeds–
It has no other choice.
In the midst of unmet need it cries
To find a silent voice.

Darkest night, that of the soul
Hollowed out in pain:
Knowing only emptiness,
The deepest, blackest stain.

A pleading going all unheard,
A single, oft-repeated word,
A crippled, hunted, flightless bird inside.
Something has died.