Ninety-seven walk through glue days.
In a row.
Soul rubbed raw.
For better or worse, the inside of everything is showing now.
My eyes are dust. The harshest images
defy tears.
I cry only from that which is tender.
Too much of this. Not
Enough of that.
Half my heart is severed.
And half soars towards redemption.
Finally.
The Uneasy Supplicant
lacing my fingers togetherI wondershould I kneelstandmaybe salute althoughI well comprehendthe rulesof a regiment I’m at a lossto knowwhat regimented