How I love
These nights,
These numbs,
And they say I step out

But I’ve been on both sides

And the miles always come
They fly,
They fail
To change us

Which we’re told should come

But maybe who we are
Was always the point
Was always the cause
Of spilled wine on the white linen

Of childhood dresses

And holding something rare
I can see
That you cannot
Maybe makes it worth

Stained Easter frills

And this isn’t poetry,
But it’s reality,
Life in symmetry:
Kinetic misery

And phonetic currency

But alms buy no bread
And I fell on this hard time
Honestly,
And against God only

Have I sinned.

I never fit
Into the cardboard boxes
Under freeways
And legalistic leeway

That imprisons in ripped packing tape.

Take me for what I am
Or else be honest,
For you can’t survive the moments
That birthed me, bred me,

And delivered me to now.