All for one

Pitting one against the other
never turns out right—
the surest way to kill joy is through comparison—

"I've loved Him longer...been there, been through..."

"Yes, but I love him newly, with new perspective..."

"Oh, but I love Him, unfulfilled, afar..."

"But I am His home."

"I am his desire."

"I am His frivolity."

"I am his fantasy."

"This I know..."

"But this, I know."

"Me...look here...see how I know?"

"I will spend..."

"I will make..."

"I will send..."


All of us trying to know more, show more, be more...
  for You, to You. To prove that we are capable of what no other could do for You, or with You, or through You...all to be chosen...all for One, one memory, one moment, one man.

His Words

I wear my green shirt today.

I put it on and turn around, and there lay

a sleeping thing, like little bean

toes on paws: a cuteness quietly

curled beneath furled sheet,

drassled hair, stuffed menagerie too 

My lips on her temple, adoration for this sight;

she murrs and purrs, unseeing she leans to

me, me she seizes from beneath sheets

peek-a-boo kitten playing

peek-a-boo joys staying

she's just a girl like this

a girl whose tail is furred

Reject It

Remember when
You rejected it—
all the anxiety
and worry
and hurt
and dissatisfaction
and rage
and haunting—

You rejected it
screamed 
and cried
and yelled it away, and it worked—
but, the cleansing isn't done. 

Cleansing, catharsis, clarify
purify, clean and jerk
it's work, I know—
I know, when I say so, but
"No", You say, I don't;
but I have been here and 
I have been there—

Reject it, 
eject it, 
pull the fucker by it's forsaken roots
and tell it 
You are 
Not
It's 
Slave.

Rise Victorious from the ashes, 
glorious to behold, be held
Be Healed. 

Fine, or not

  "I'll be fine," He says, and walks out the door.
(as I write this, I am notified—a message from Him, but not really, only a repeat, no emoji in sight)

   I think of the torn shower curtain from this morning—not just torn, but shredded, the Great Cat having ripped it apart after the long pole failed.

  I think of His tread of late, heavy and swaying like a wounded, angry, defensive beast—it is no wonder You say the ladder is coming away.

  I think of Him and me and us—

Thinking of You

  It breaks my heart, a witness to what You do. 

  What I see in Your inklings and notions— the sheer magnitude of process, the energetic drive to touch more, more thoroughly, the motion of thought and colour and sound in You and through You, the tender and the terrible, the terrific and the tragic, all the world expanded to include and contracted to exact, dreams and philosophy and politics and sex and horror and joy and wonder and befuddlement, a cascade of  empathy and sympathy always at he brink, a genius that cannot be duplicated, a boy that cannot be consoled, a man that cannot be yet is, a mind ever stretching and feeling it's way, sensitivity and sensuality, the marking You leave, remarkable— so much that I cannot describe for my own clumsy ways, some day it will be known, and received by those who can appreciate, respond in kind, inspire and uplift. 
  
  You are greatness, unacknowledged, undiscovered but for the likes of me. Someday that must change.