the fish, once swam unrestrained,
unaware we went free.
We drifted, damn it,
wherever we desired,
forever if we saw fit.
They, the people of tongue,
with their paper and crosses
viewed us, the fish,
The river, our sustenance
and creation, could once freely flow.
They tame and dam our river,
we, in vain, damn their status quo.
It’s somewhat of a fright,
I’m sure, thinking toward
fending for ourselves every night,
but to the future I look forward
finding myself more than ready and able
of clipping coupons for deals from the grocery store,
of eating meals where there not yet sits a table,
of sleeping on a mattress supported simply by floor
if it’s next to you, knowing right here we succeed.
Through days of heat and days gone cold,
we’ll age together as ticking time turns worried
wondering why my waking at your side never grows old.
I want to leave tonight
clean of a run-in with regret,
and still hastily brushing off
cascading droplets of sweat,
and marked ‘till the morning,
a stained smile on my face,
I need to leave tonight
with every damn hair out of place.
A message for the uninitiated,
and for all of the uninvited
that view my garden from far away
while denying they’re nearsighted:
Mine are only truly seeded
where the grounded rules don’t apply.
Mine tell their own stories;
stems grow truth with petals that lie.
Mine glow unappreciated
if the mind suffers small room,
but with or without your understanding,
my flowers, they bloom.
Tearing myself down
with tooth, fist, and nail,
a half-starved snake
swallowing its own tail.
When it all falls,
the last bits of me,
will I find comfort in the grass
and my peace in the debris?.
It’d be appreciated if
etched on my walls
were clearly marked the
direction in which I’m meant to travel.
Etched, of course,
in giant bold-faced, italicized,
impossible-to-ignore colored font
since I struggle endlessly
with separating what’s really there
from what I really want.
Earthly grapes squeezed
into a grail of stone
serve as the cup
I’m prone to drinking,
but this night I ask a god,
one I’ve never known,
of inconsequential matters
matter so heavy
that they press on one more
sliver of cheer
like a twig.
I raise resistance.
they gut a pig.
others have attempted to breach
what I thought impenetrable,
but, whereas they
grew weary of the siege,
and willingly retreated
your persistence either
or didn’t know how
which is why,
of the great many invaders,
you turned out
I believed in destiny
mostly because there was no other way
a bench outside of a decent smoothie joint
at early-as-fuck in the morning
could double as the grounds where we first met.
Why that struck me as destined to be
at the time,
I seem to forget.