Sitting with Zoloft

All Saints Day 2010

Shuttered down in the shadow of Christ. My 

haunches like the rotted quiescense of overripe fruit 

mistaken for joy and bowled offerings yet to be made.

Mostly lonely out of ignorance and spent shame;

The split familial ghosts of trembling; dancing a 

mated shuffle. He says, Go in two pieces to love.

The weeping loop of my mouth and standard earshot

distance welcomes the three warped arrows and the Holy

feather of anger spent like masturbation and broken rays.

Lonely-- no longer in my heart. --I am learning the

because-of brain, and more to the point, what must

be the wayward made straight to my original face.

As green ash grows against the white willows, so

the streams of my rolling walk and flopside breaks make

penetrations of old-timey sing-song notes. A keening.

Wishing; as if just a half-side beef spine truck-hooked

to the breakdown tables. My arm is found to be broken. 

So fair and dimpled along the back side and end of you.

Down face to a friend and into the whipping horse he was

fond of for making steamy saints and pentagons of sinew,

Tree to  grow and pendants of penetrating joy.

A major tree of arcana is disjointed at the bastion

and intersection of artificial and angel bodies. It is like

unto boning and tearing flesh, abandonded, burnished ache. 

I sing to him like a verger and the fleshed story is something

lost.-- A bright photonic and salvaged love. I do not leave my bones.

Peace be with you. Held at the edges and thrusts of sharpened knives.