Written 07/31/24 [POEM FOUR]
Sometimes in my dreams you pick my wings off slow and meticulous--like you are wiping dust from my moth back one particle at a time.
I am an angel and you make me naked one feather at a time.
Do you remember how I used to fly? Do you?
Naked before God, but in a different way, naked as a sign of trust, of love--
But you have made my body bare and bruised, crumpled up and sick, my hands don't know me now--
nails as my halo--blood as my song--you have made me this, you have, you have--
Worst of all you might be a new Messiah, angels sing your name--there is so much I love about you and I hate that--
Look at the gore you wrought! My bones turned to iron and hid by depression fat--I should burn you down. I love you--isn't it disgusting?
My hands, look at my hands! They're shaking, aching, desperate, needy--I knew you. Open wound of a man--soft, gentle, until no one was around;
burn me if you must, crush me into dust--angry like electrolemon lightning strikes. Do you hate me? I couldn't bear that--melt me back into glass globs--turn me to pure sand again.
Could you ever want me back? I'd let you rip me up all over again--
You know, it's all rigor mortise on the memory--raise the dead sweet boy,
I know you can. In the end, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
