Welcome

Space to breathe and city air

you swore it from afar—

now underbreath curses

steam like subway tunnels.

Kiss me in this metro green.

No excuse for broken hearts and tongues—

karmic vengeance like a rainstorm:

where broken teeth are promises

love kisses death on Tuesday.

The things I swore to myself,

too easily lost,

my white-knuckled sobriety

couldn’t save the tenth time he spread me open

watched me give like a subway grate,

(oh such a dangerous fall).

the twisted metal of my soul

could no longer filter,

but let my heat escape

to scald the hearts and tongues

of too many men

I knew too short a time…

Anything worthwhile is like a shooting star

lights your darkness and too easily dies,

so the trappings of myself are too twisted, poor,

too ragged and barbed wire

to see past the screen of buildings.

And you know no one here can see the stars

with all the steam evaporating.

Pantheism 101

Expound the need to journey inward

and downward

Peel away the layers of self

to find the divine within—

I am nothing in your eyes

I am less in mine.

I need to make the journey outward

and upward

I cannot hack the little of me

apart; I am meant for the stars—

I am nothing standing still,

bending to your fickle will.

Listen here, beloved—

and tell me what is more?

Would you hug dreams

until they smash?

Or learn to love a whore?

I need to make the journey in what-

ever direction

that could spiral me but

inches from your face—

I am nothing in my place,

you are built to shine.

This is the leap of faith

Balance unstrong

suited size-too-small,

and al-

ways on the edge

of comprehension—

reveling in what is to be known

momentary ignorance an opiate

jacked off in the syringe,

mystery the lifeblood

intelligence a sin.

Balance gone wrong

either shove or fall,

and all-

together glorious my pledge

of redemption—

patching up the burns I’ve sown

through love of skin and pavement

smiling up at those who cringe,

revolving through the good

breathing out and in.

Balance my song

collapsing lungs call,

and all-

quivering on my ledge—

your attention

this jump will not be made alone

there is hope yet

gravity does not infringe,

the changing specter of my mood

to let the air begin.

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Asst. Ed.: Linda Jockers/Ed: Bryonie Wise