yesterday, i went out to her gravesite

“static/silk”

and we should throw static at silk

sniffling our way underground

as if we should die of shock

if our spirit were willing to do what we asked it to

the wood pile piled high with aggresion

light as air but ready to burst

at any moment we will

shrug off our desires and discover new burdens

this is the way we wish we could confront our deities

like we could warm up to the sun, and eat it

the literal truth is much less articulate

like rubbing a new wound in old milk

if I tried harder would it get me any further?

I’m afraid there might be some things I’m too small to compete with

I’ve counted each minute of desperation

I’ve found  answers but they only precede new questions

This is likely going to be the opening piece in my next chapbook.  It's from March '08, I think. It fits well with my current mood.