"Miserere #19"

Don’t you worry about me



I’ve laid down in the grass and thought about shit



I have wretched up the worm a time or so, if I may say



I have melted into carpets



My head



in my hands



like the cover to that Creed album



I’ve been funny about it of course



Some of the most fun times of my life

have happened during the Denial phase



It is nothing, I know, but time that tightens



It is what you leave in your wake that defines you



I know



We’d like to believe it’s the things you’ve made



but it’s just all the shit you can never go back on, I know



I hereby renounce my ferocity



I got you this aptitude for retention—nono, I don’t need it



I bought a calico cat, I got a job



I put five dollars in a jukebox today,

played every song I’d shown you,



went home and fucking lost it



Just a bit more Depressed, Then Acceptance, says the book



Just a couple more breath exercises



In the beginning was the Word and The Light



Not theirs, but somebody else’s



In the beginning was the Word and The Light



I am trying to remember what it was like



I’m spending hours and hours and hours at work



Getting Back



You see what I’m saying about category?



You see how, if the spark of light can come as a surprise,



How it could just up and die just as well?



Ain’t nothing down these streets for you, baby boy



Ain’t nothing you could find of much use



Only dastardly ruination



Helpless disgust



Your head on your mom’s breast

A Sweet smell on the days dad would give out the belt

Your pleasure there with your head jammed in the bedframe



A porno you found in the snow



That winter when we all got concussions



Your hand shifting in the crook of your thighs

The day in the closet she said, “Feel Me”



I am trying to get my shit correct

I am just a Bottle of volition these days



And I’m sorry, Anthony, for the gum in your hair

I’m sorry I lied on the Bible

I didn’t know



I didn’t know that it would stick like that



I never knew all that about Sleep and then Death



I never knew how Hate was the Daughter of Love



I just thought You love a thing

And then you stop



Our hero was born on a Tuesday



A little boy with misshapen legs



He likes to skin his knees, just a little, on the asphalt



He likes the color of his blood

_