Outside
Snow plummets
From the sky
Like an apocalypse
Of fallen angels.
My head–
Inside–
Throbs hot
And dark
With blood
And ancient thoughts
Hashed through
Repeatedly
Until threadbare,
Unrecognizable.
But when the master key
Drops in my lap
They still have enough shape
To click together
And make a new picture,
Kinder and more heartbreaking
Than I could have expected.
Like a million mothers’ hands,
Cool on fevered brows,
The snow drops from the sky
Outside—
“I changed my mind—
I don’t want to be autistic”
I think this facedown
On the bathroom floor
As reality ebbs
Away
From me
Because
Yesterday
I booked tickets
To an arena show
For a band I love,
Which is not a thing
I’ve ever done,
Could ever
Imagine
I would do,
And now
I do not
Know myself
Because
There is
Too much new
And reality ebbs
Away
From me
Like it doesn’t want to
Accidentally
Brush up
Against
The miserable
Thing
“[…] we have much to hope from the flowers.”
Kindness is the only surprise
Left in the universe.
We see our world out every lens,
And we are outraged–
but not surprised.
But kindness?
That is a surprise.
It is nothing so brash as a promise–
promises being so breakable–
But is something that intimates,
Stretches and gives, becomes
A flash
Broad enough to encompass
All those divine goods
That we have not the goodness
To imagine;
Something bright,
The rock in the heavens that sparks back
Light in the night.
This honey-dripping scandal
That only God
Could be bold enough
To imagine:
This is what we call kindness.
Even Sherlock said so.
For you, Elise.
For you I have wrestled with thunder,
Torn the mane of the sea
From the breast of his lover,
Lain upon pebbles and overheard
The secret voice of the Father.
I am lost, Elise.
I am lost in what your soul did to mine
When it flew apart,
Throwing sparks into the abyss
On descent,
Throwing joy, lifeless, to the ground
In a night of endless victory.
I love you, Elise.
I am cold with love for you.
I am dark with love for you.
For you I have become ancient,
Wandering deaf without the song of you,
As the black blood in my heart
Hardens.
The Anarchist's Guide to Etiquette 