Even if unedited, it feels good to get this sort of stuff out into the aether. Making feelings make sense to someone else is the perfect sieve for what's real and what's just a weird tangent my brain is beating me over the head with.
Still learning the poetry ropes :>
Crisis of Faith
I.
Wolf down the scraps,
Snap for the marrow, what
Breadcrumbs one kind mother
Fashioned in her appraisal -
You are too young for lethargy.
There, on the plate: your heart beatless,
Roasted and dribbling.
Flesh breathes,
And all chairs lie empty.
I am not that beast, but matter,
Form bequeathed to meat.
If the good Lord smiles upon me,
His gaps outnumber the teeth.
II.
Atacama weather makes my shirt itch.
I can only watch, my fingers long possessed by boredom,
As lint falls, thread loosens,
And stitches unravel.
Red coins, rubbed to stubs,
Run across my palm, awakening
Muscle-memory - mine, or theirs?
Perhaps they recall the abacus.
I put them in the glove-box,
and make a wish.
