My heart breaks on a daily basis. Every fragile bit of heaven crumbles in the clumsy fingers of the everyday. Pummeled by stone and the cold non-attentions of barely breathing life. I am a casualty of deep time. A rose plucked from the lapel of a zoot-suited god. A fragrant wreck washed up on a shore already littered with warped planking and crippled sea birds. With metaphors and rhymes. Snatched from the jaws of poetic mediocrity. I slow dance to the fractured rhythms of the wounded and bleeding children of the Earth.
And when blessed, blessed sleep. Lays it salacious fingers on my quickly greying temple. The resulting dreams are blood pool heavy with melancholy and articulate inactivity. Filled with empty empathy and heroic longing. A malady quickly becomes a life. For what my arms cannot move or hands cannot mend my chest absorbs like a dime store sponge. Thus afflicted I walk the straight and narrow. Wounded by every cry and every whisper. Prey to the imperfection of a muscle tied together with spiders’ strings and angels’ breath.
