Some Dark November

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Why did you have to break the vow that I made?

Born again they say.

“You must be born again”.

I was.

Twice.

The first for childlike faith.

The second for naïve visions of hands holding hands.

There was a day when I was baptized in the usual way…

With water on a Sunday.

The day I remember most though,

Is some dark November.

In a strange light, and covered in bedbug bites.

Some dark November,

I was born again. Twice.

I sold my soul to the quivers of my body.

To the way I heard someone screaming,

Far away, but embodied in choking chest.

I sold my soul to feverish ache.

To insomniatic rage.

To how carpet tastes like nothing but coarsens the cheeks.

I was baptized in that unusual way.

Wonderment crucified beneath the scathing hot rivers I cried that night.

Raised to walk in newness of life…

And it’s still the newest life, I don’t know how to live.

The newest life I never wanted.

Spitting image of this unfamiliar family…

Singing for the outside our dearest song-

“Never be born again twice”…

“No, never be born again twice”.

Intimacy

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Rush like August comes and goes.
Leaves on trees never stood a chance.
The inherent flaw, he dances with it.
Like, the way one such Pan triumphs with every swing of arrogant dagger.
Like, he knows it makes me want him more.
Hush now August, stay.
Or else, I should call shotgun.
If only the incorporeal could lift the heavy burden of a body…
Then I should know him truly.
I hope that when I die,
I become the essence of Summer’s breath.
To be taken in by the ground.
Giving life to the stolen moments of little flowers.
To be breathed and released again and again by the newborn creatures of steady spring.
By children laughing.
I will be the music of their lungs.
I want to be exhaled by youthful, pounding chests…
Wrapped around the bodies of solstice lovers,
Dancing in the warmth between.
All the while being intertwined with that one spirit of creation,
from which my own body kept me prisoner all the years of my life.
That one whose leaving rushes, and I mind it.
But, he knows I’m one for tragedy.
He knows I’m one for romance.
The tale will spin, until that day I take my last breath of him and my first within him.