I’ve become more scars than skin
bloodshot, scalded for a tan
our limps march the same cadence
wounds fit together
See the companion piece Friction (Etheree).
each its ammunition:
napalm throws sparks,
filling the location.
to pull down and back
the prolonged collision.
Grace does not destroy nature, but perfects it(Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, Ia. q. 1, a. 8, ad2)
Winston’s frog-marched affections:
forced infection to weaken
resistance to subjection,
to life and reason cheapened.
But grace woos, pleads, and perfects:
it needs no mean coercion;
delight and love it effects,
expects to bear the burden.
these four walls:
cold, darkened like a hyperborean winter
with only glimpses of daylight—
dawn and dusk slow-dancing together—
let me thaw:
make a run for the equator
and a perennial equinox—
dawn and dusk barely recognize one another
Why is it we fear to shuffle?
What do we find loathsome about
being coilless? We do struggle
so with nightmares’ sinister doubt
sniffling its long, sinister snout
out from underneath the bedsheets.
Perchance sweeter dreams to us come:
the foul beast’s snout makes its retreat,
routed by restful snores’ deep hum.
while wolves howl at the lonely moon,
she resolves to wrap her yellow embrace
around the fixtures making shadows
like lurking monsters that go bump in the night
4-21-2020 (rev. 5-5-2020)