now we’re sure

I’m not standing in front of those bullets anymore. just another thing to miss, bowing my head. grief, it changed on me. now I can make a practice of spitting in my soup, changing the flavor, moving it left from savory to sweet, the little things, change gonna come (Sweeney, 1989).

sympathies avoided. meet you in the collective, ate alive, cut all the way through, a picture or 2, like the son of Abraham, driving through stop signs, wrong way on the bus line. doing so wrong, a denial of the conscience and that alcohol isn’t tasting valuable at all. no it doesn’t taste like anything at all.

I had a full hand once, thoughts I gambled away, and like all those nights in the mud, we used to ask each other, and even now the things we’d say, if we weren’t so sure, now that we’re sure. write it on the walls, reminding ourselves of the pain living in the pain, gambled away. what we do to the family, cards spilled on the floor

unlocked and rinsed clear. another beautiful word, freckled and dirty, hands in the soil, whispers of grace, a barking dog, a kiss under the bridge, like this water flowing north. we never stay the same, playing hide and seek with the heart in a bag, a heart in my hat, cut all the way through.

“another promise for the self, cause I can’t leave me this way, I just won’t leave me again “— angel A

art credit: Mask, Cameroons. Kunst und Religion der Naturvölker. 1926.

reference

Sweeney, T. J. (1989). Adlerian counseling: A practical approach for a new. decade (3rd ed).Muncie, IN: Accelerated Development.