a few moments more

what is armor? what is protection when it is made from these human hands and this borrowed breath? what is the illusion when it is formed in the mild tissue of the mind? what is goodness when it has never been seen?

it is a monument and it is a grave marker… this is yesterday the mile marker and the carcass.. but is it not beautiful?

I let my shoulders slump, because I knew the room could not hold both these shoulders and your eyes. your eyes turning me out like a scream no one is supposed to hear. hidden and still, unmoving you throw them. the surface. I’m not ignoring you, how can I open a window to another moment? how can you, when you know I see you fight to sit in it, sitting in what you’ve earned, what you’ve fought for? I can fight myself too, that’s why I didn’t let the sun rise onto my face, eclipsed by your face, THE WHOLE SUN… but I won’t fight it here…. not here, the place you have never known.. not here where my tapping drowns out your pen…

the beautiful age and the truth is not for us to avenge, but we try, and I want to build that place again, now that I am robbed of the materials, once again stolen from the kitchens and bathrooms of my missing hope chest. we could reside inside that hope. we could take a long 30 yard stare and reverse the grass pulling the water into the fire, pulling the earth on its hands, but what of the truth? can it be…