You are not as guilty as now you think.
You are guiltier.
This is a dangerous faith.
for those whom
also
never die alone, say,
“for whom ever does”?
no one is ever born alone;
woman is always there.
for whom else can cart the heart of life from others within us?
Gathering food for scapegoats is the
real blood flooding through history’s prototypal veins.
Scandals & salvations,
revelations worn like desert sidewinders.
Imagination,
wanting,
more and/or less
is
the longest kite-string trails
in the sandglass of time.
Second guessing TREATS EVERYONE LIKE A BEGGAR.
Are people in their heaven blind to this world,
or are our horizon indeed an imaginary line that disappears when
approached
like a question mark without a dot to dote on
?
For whom wants to go through live without living?
He never sold a poem in his lifetime:
he gave them away.
But a parenthetical friend gave him a dollar once
(that he traded for food)
did God say
“Come to class,
do the work,
or I’ll fail you”
?
this poem wasn’t supposed to turn out like this:
“FRAGILE: THIS SIDE
UP”
today, texture is the roots’ coarse hair of a transplanted cello string,
quivering in my ear canal.
That's why I say~
SCREW GUILT
Adding your comment:
~ Janet ~ 
