Leviathan

There are three hundred Ways that I might fuck this up. I'll ignore them all.

Clouds skirt the skyline, Brewing harbingers portend: A culmination.

I tore down the house my father built. I marked each beam with flame, opened the rafters to the birds and the vermin, poured curses into the cracks in the foundation. There was a time where it’s rooms and arches were things of envy, picturesque, but I’m the one who lived there. I’m the one who knows that its’ shadows were dark instead of cool, who knows the secret rooms not outlined in the blueprints, who holds conversations with its’ ghosts in inconvenient moments. I’m the one who knows where paint covered the signs of struggle, who remembers the sounds of locked doorknobs and footsteps through the hallway at night. I’m the one who inherited it. 

“There’s a song I’ve sung

My independence

I thrash and I writhe, Churn within the firmament Overcome with greed.

How long need I wait? Sowing love and planting love? When does love abound?

I reach for my phone As if you still want to talk. Then I remember.

Honey, I am like Guacamole on the side: I'm fucking extra.

I feel everything; Filament-skin, conduit. An extension, jarred

We reach, find each other over miles, generations. Huddle close as if we are rocks in the windstorm, just need one side of me to not bite, gnaw. It is all bearable if I have this, it will be bearable so long as there’s this. We stop looking up, there is no fruit in the trees, we stop singing, we have no voice. All I have is this, it will all be bearable so long as I have this. Our skin grows and grows, we sink beneath the weight but still we lift, still we walk, it is bearable if I have this. We do not see, don’t look to see, don’t know if anything has changed, all I know is I have this, I’m okay if I have this.