CONFESSION AND FOREWORD

dear, i made up all that shit about meditation
you came to love me in a moment's hesitation.
i didn't lie, we both speak in approximation.
all the words you know, quick, what's their definition?
i just want immunity from my intuition,
except that's purely childish selfhood and tradition.
let's not go and google our zodiac perdition,
ascribe to what's inside more poetic inscriptions;
but, run, galavant toward our whimsy's ambition,
we can live beyond lost pride and failure's derision.

but what's that, which kiss did i like the best?
we try to entrap each love to confess
a blush it can't quite comprehend or wrest
from the blood flow between our brain and breast.

there's old gentle sighs dubbed with musical knifes of light,
sometimes waking up cries of dust and adjusted sight
and other times you feel ordinary and your mouth dry,
thinking you'd die for the freedom to laugh and defy
heartless alarms and careers too early and contrived.
i stomp to the shower to the tune of the reprise,
i'll carry that weight, i'll open sleepless blood-shot eyes,
exorcise tiredness with coffee and a smile's guise,
edit out crusades of gripes to die for decent pride.

though fighting bleak won't make you unique,
what love, what justice from feigning meek?
some feel richer for what they entreat,
others slave over what makes them weak.

the bible 2 won't eschew any such avenue,
but rather accrue purple, green emotional hues
in a gone pasture of humanity courting truths.
the conundrums won't soothe much of the hurt that we outgrew,
the thinking is inherently blue, not meant for proof
of black, white, heavens and hells, to celebrate or rue.
i saw angry in hungry, deep in grief, drunk to lewd;
yet, i did bloom and still depend on these diseased roots.
how long must i polish sin off god's most holy tooth?

we never knew dreaming up a soul
made of an ancient bottom-less hole
would be so vital to feeling whole,
we think in why's for sake of revolt.

we try not to wonder when we'll stop letting ourselves go,
if a body is a vessel or a temple, no,
no judgment for a world hazy and wreaking of smoke,
no lust tainting energies of potential and hope.
tried not to feel remote when i awoke well below
great vague expectations of what i should be and know.
a spiritual winter cure global warming type foe
enlists, misguides passion with its apocalypse goad.
i clothe myself in myths of transcendence, but just crow.

i am aware of being aware,
i heaped a blank stare here, there, nowhere,
praying, maybe, for words, thought to bear
a continuity we could share.