the arduous task of being

it was the early morning
and we woke empty and hungry
like babes to a new garden world;
so with sharp teeth bared
we sought God’s teats and sucked –
we sucked the very life into us
and never knew how to be human,
not since that.

it was ever after, us chasing the divine
for more about how and what…
more words without understanding
to beat the shit out of our neighbour with,
steel barbs on lettered strips to self-flagellate
that we might bleed life and be loved
through a torture of directed doing.

no and may it come to never be,
but we are neither obedient in the desert,
nor happy in the promised land,
but rather dim, half-made and
somewhat self-unmade golems
with no commanding notes
to joyously choke on;
we are only what we are and this is best,
to eat and live and fuck and flail
in the shadow of a given grace
that come the setting sun we may have found
a maker’s mark in the keeping
of a humble, busted, honest life
and willing hands to take us in

– cracked –

that light would beat
from our blazing hellbent hearts
dripping to the trail we make
so our children might not get lost
and join us somewhere greater…
where we feel important as we are –
unearned and unremarkable

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