he is not an accident. he is the antithesis of ruin– a creation greatly masked under layers of fault, lines caught between his ribs and between his thighs and between the melodies written, a harsh example of a kingdom split in two rebuilt to honor those who came before him a testament to challenge and acceptance he is great his name a thunder-clap surrounded by rain. a planned pardon of years spent wandering deserts, stealing water where it falls. a false advertisement of calm, and what comes after? a healing; a knowledge of too much to swallow a realization that the past isn’t tomorrow the sun’s the same but today’s rays know no sorrow

HE IS NOT LOOKING FOR HAPPINESS HE IS LOOKING FOR STABILITY IN AN EARTHQUAKE shaken foundation, no level floor to stand on he is a house built on fault

I am not a mirror’s image. I am a crease between two folds a God worshipped in secret the antithesis of a reaction, a cause for a change, for a trans– formation in better words a tradition of broken promises. but I am a breath released, a shame worth having a house worth living in.