Angst
Amid the scream of anger
The pain
Of growing up
The pain of being or becoming
A grown up growing up
Always in the past
Shit
That fucking stuff
That brings regret
Stuff that opens
All those darkened doors
Too far away
And far too close
To see or feel the love
Tears
And misheard conversations
No words bring justice
Where justice lies wandering
And hope is left squandering
Or pushed away completely
Fight
Or flight in unselfish persecution
Of self at best
Unworthy except of blame, shame that
You ever entered
Through life’s wide open door
Cannot love
Ever be left like this
Ever like this be left
Instead the will of ordination
Fingers just touch on fingers
For this is far too early
Far too early
For a full on come on
Shoulder wrapped embrace
Dare
Of each and then of each other
Enter always the complicated situations
Engage your care
Back into those deep
Wide and furlong furrows
Leave space
Burrowed
With time
With gentleness
Of room for mistakes
And misappropriations
Conserve creation to cherish
This love too far away
And far too close
To see or even to be seen
From the Collection I Suppose You could Call It Country, available on Kindle
