Before Forgiveness

Reconnaissance within thought

Articulation of my own ideas

Sought forgiven forgotten

synaptic nerves, retreat in embarrassment, with a few 

stranding 

lingering, 

lighting blue and black against the grey, whipping up 

and back 

and entangled again, 

and again, 

and again.

This all leads to something, doesn’t it?

This furnace: fundamental, foundational, creation, 

drives me from linens attached to skin, smothering me, 

making me nude under the sun 

making muscles taut

making eyes agape

no fumbling; 

athletic, graceful, fast….

if only. 

Once in a while. 

Mostly never. 

My cage is so small, crippled by its entanglement with what is unreal

sharp tines, surrounding and tightening, with each move

each glimpse towards the unknowing

that forever dawn of the universe that is so much beyond anything I can comprehend

The cage is suffocating. 

That arc is penetrative:

lines and lines of nasty synaptics, boring and grooving through it all forever. 

My forever. 

Forever. 

Lining up as soldiers honed to shoot and bound everything—all things—to the furies of loss, of failure, of doubt, 

of time and time and time. 

It was innocent once. It was free:

all glowing blue and pink, fresh and fragile—no dull thud of thoughts;

no stench of humiliation. Imbued 

with the goddess spirits of our blue and green planet, 

of time and space of infinities, 

so wonderful. So naive. 

So pathetically ridiculous. 

This is that arc:

it is wired within that first cut away from mama’s womb. 

From there it sponges it all up; and down. 

And around and around till we are the huddled masses, 

under the bridge

looking up to a sky

that will never

ever

forgive us.