There is not a hole small enough
for me to crawl into.

Where is there a crack in the wall
that I can maneuver myself into
and with every strength that I have
force my limbs into, through paint and wood and dry wall,
extend clenched fists and sharp elbows
dig my heels into
bruise my knees against
and shatter with the fiery rawness of
an ear-piercing scream
that will echo into the ears of my wrong-doers
as my body twists with the force of an exorcism
my scream draws blood from their eyes
cracks the vertebrae in their spines
splinters the bones in their shines
and send them into a descent of pleading, begging,
repenting for their sins
that explode from my heart
and all the desolation and destruction
carried in my scream
travels through their ears
and into their souls
an expulsion of my grief
that leaves them deaf and distorted
and leaves me cleansed and renewed.


The Fight

I woke up with my fist clenched.

Beating sweat and exhaustion into the sheets.

Two punches.

And the second one my eyes open.

I slammed my fist against the wall one night.

Go to sleep

Wake up

The Magician’s Hands

I met a man who dazzled me.

A magician of his craft,

he captivated me with a slight of his hand
making something out of nothing,
light, and with a sly, hesitant smile

A wave of his arms,
in everything from common time,
to 11/8,
he drew me in
with a magic invisible
only audible
in the sound of a clear,
bell-like tone
he drew from my chest
the expansion of my lungs
the roughness of my speech
into the clarity of soprano polyphony

But every magician has his tricks

and the best of the best
will deceive your very soul
into thinking there is something
where nothing
is nothing.