I sit in the cold,
With my little fire,
Stirred by my past,
My potential, my desires
Which fuel all

Where I am is cemented
By lead toes,
And iron wills,
And now I know
Where I am

But the harder questions
Still ruminate
Float in the ethereal
Threatening to compensate
Providences hard found

The why, the what,
The ever advancing true
Whispers guesses
At the deeper who
Always taking form

I wanted to be known once,
As though unchangeable
Matter, spirit and breath
Existed unexchangeable,
Impervious.

But these nights,
These words and thoughts
Burning through failures,
The stops and starts
Of fluid existence

Molds the untouchable,
Changing designs,
Or excavating
Who am I and
Who I am.

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.