& perhaps, when god left his

Peace he gave me the liberty

To be anything— & I chose

To be happy. & before that, I was

The remains from the already-fallen

Cathedral of my mother’s psalm—

I still am. I was born to a cross I did

Not know the origin of. I warn you, I bear

The life-long bruise of a plaguing scar,

Its silent wounds searing my mouth;

I barely quilt sentences for the air,

Which if pressed, passes for murmur.

Like a madman in gracious search

For bread, I too, desired love.

I walked with the hunger of my

Heart, stretched my echoing pan for

Coins of warmth yet not a chink.

So I learnt to love in bits, to lick

It off the scalpel from which

I was torn open with. & when god

Left his peace, he knew the heart

Of man was a troubled sea. So, here

I am losing & finding it daily, praying

Whatever the day kisses into my

Bone, I will not dwell in the awful

Hollow of the world. I could have

Been the chaos but I chose to be

Paradise.

Like any man would,

My body deflects towards

Desire— sweet rush for aberration.

Lust cons the eye into tendering

A hunger that alarms the flesh.

See where the flowers worship; 

The flourish that brims a woman’s

knee, the way a paisley gown could be

Tailored to hold a field of roses. I begin

To pick, stalk after stalk till she drops

Devoutly before her god, that flesh.

Headlong into paradise, I swell

In little breaths, breaths heaving through the

Devil’s mouth— an hour honeyed with damages.

I, soft shine & warm sun— bringing forth

The moon in jelly white like an animal in heat.

To touch a man is to give wings to his ruins,

To remind him that his language is corrupt upon reentry.

Baby, tell me this is where I close back into midnight,

That the city stones will reverse collapse into beauty.

Lead me through this bliss like an angel finding its way

Back to yahweh. I will tell of how this flight isn’t just a body

In surrender but a soul tethered to a kite sphered

With the gush of ecstasy.

The minutes preceding twelve

Slowly shifts, erasing the morning,

Clean, as though it never had breath.

Watch how laughter rots

             Into

                   A blue

Sigh.

To scissor at the hem of life

Is to make an     exit, open a    path

With your father singing

Alone on a boulevard

              Rustling with the voices

Of angels.

In your hometown, there’s

Red earth— the kind you hand

Against the wind & see the

Sandman appear in its motion.

To this, an uncrowning, a ghostly

Kiss past the holy hour, twelve.

& so, a shadow unthreads

Light from the feet of a man

Taking the shape of a spirit.

As bone against rock, so

Is the body against darkness.

Mouth once full of birds, now

Holds the awful echo of curtains.

At his grave, lying out stretched

Waiting for spittle in your ears

To fetch his ghost voice, first.