The wanting whisked through a conflicted reality
Some can’t stop.
Each moment boiling over into another hot space
guarded by an other,
while hate drives quick breaths unintentionally
feeding a monster.
Monsters
The Politic of Fog
more than unknowing
more than confusion
more than isolation
It is the truth that is lost with the blow hearted makers of heaviness
thick with injustice meant to allow time to escape the light of day
photography thanks to Paul Militaru
Nursing a Wound
Without respect to will
the heart still beats and chest breaths life.
Not true when with pain
I choose
to listen or not, to care too much-
hold so tight the hurt
the inner lines are lost
and I am not me but you.
What of the rage within that swells?