Flesh in the House of Spirit


Hard to pick a side, torn • ligaments of indecisiveness mingling pain with • pride between the hand and the • mind, spinal cord’s tangled by choking • choruses, back-breaking masterwork’s been compromised, art’s • processing’s reversed, exorcising self-possession until a • tortured soul burns to be returned • to its captor, caveat that it • prefers to be emptied of its • worth, scorched twice by enlightenment’s Promethean • torch until blind to Eden’s eternal • curse, that suffering charts a perpetual • course toward the Tree of Life, • paradise bruises the fruit for tasting • too wise, before one’s world ends • empires collapse first, heart-strings untwined when • the heart discards discords of forceful • fists forcing its muscle to get • a grip, when what fight’s left • inside pulverizes to bits those weaknesses • we hide but still feel violated • by parts of it, ever since • our beginning this voice of conscience • has felt more like a knife • than one of reason, splintering the • will, ripping in two husband and • wife, day and night, would you • rather have me vocalize how this • wound sighs, winks like a blackened • eye, sinks into laziness and rests, • begins to heal in your sight, • not because the war’s over but • because when you arrived survival’s instinct • kicked in hurt’s grimacing face frozen • in time, clocking its narrative of • brokenness until out of numbness thawed • life, or would you have my • truth have to choose between being • believed or censured by your version • of piety, to give up ghosting • only if my perversions’ reality were • not my story’s focus, just footnoted, • since heroics need to uphold myths • of decency, to champion passionate deeds • not just the sex scenes, the • romantic bits too, the parts that • make the audience swoon, and root • for us two, how chaos follows • me and leads you, when I • leave you, what will chaos do? • •


Would you even hold my hand, • or would you SWAT it away • because you need that hand to • gayme?


If not your rejection, is • it affection deficit? Too much attention • wasted on paying no respect and • taking everything instead, this is how • the generation now transforms next into • never, can I do any better? • Is there any other way to • return the sender’s gaze onto his • own death-sentencing letter, to say the • ending’s bitter when we’re beginning to • confuse looting for getting it, two • fools abusing each other’s gifts, only • losers go through this and call • themselves winners, can’t ever have enough • of this shit, players who refuse • to accept defeat and give up • sacrifice, never able to realize ours • was fated to fail, without breath • or sweat, bereft of any effort, • a ship won’t even sail, sinking • the entire fleet, bringing us down • with what we thought would keep • this flame, the same mistaken haste • which causes men to perish when • faced with threats extinguished its heat, • this is why flesh always was • denied a place of rest in • the house of spirit, too quick • to seek peace when we were • nowhere yet even near it, too • afeared of our own demons we • preferred to battle each other instead.