SEP. 2 Twenty twenty three
I. <3
Gratitude can suck it.
I’ve found the local colloquial to be sarcasm -
Silver spooned out of the finest cantaloupe in the land.
The magic is gone. But we take it upon ourselves
Each day to hunt the vicious corners like starved bees
For an ounce of pure, vulnerable, sincerity:
We’re so lucky.
Each breath is a blessing.
I’m happy for the opportunity to struggle.
It could always be worse.
I’m not complaining but I have notes
(Lord, thank you for the chili dogs today).
II. > 0 <
Joy means hummingbird
Fearless under shadows of clouds
Or ancient beasts, or looming IRS.
Uncertainty squeaks in the pulley.
The stones weigh the same.
Rivals lay down their vengeance
In the heat of battle, iron to sangre
“I’m so sorry for what I’ve done.
Could you ever forgive me, love?”
