Monday, August 31, 2015

the kind of dead that's so alive
that it's wanted. access to admiration

remains a restriction
solely for others- for the self, the effort

remains either unconscious and incapable of escape
or just plain weak. christ isn't home. christ sacrificed for everyone

except you. if only they all knew

how death is the only solid matter.
and also, if they knew, you

are, in spite of yourself, leading
only yourself on.

the mantis blending in the orchid
waiting to kill- even he

would say you only do it in cowardice, you know, though
you kill all the time.

you seem to lack confidence, he'd say next.
you're all alone and fighting

for hopelessness. this tattoo

doesn't have permission to be anywhere.