turkish submission

dark presence enter

but never approach

you leave him alone

the fear of you wakes him

it's after the dream

held from scream by paralysis

malice escapes while

your memory shakes him

***

exhaust and back sweating

from imperfect pride

now a dark hour¡¯s walking:

I passed on the ride

chagrin, growing weakness.

try walking less taxing,

that way that you learned

try imagining home,

just an hour returned

try praying the sweetness

so recent discerned¡¦

it¡¯s a walk

but its more

like a spiritual question

the answer we have

only three miles

to stalk

it¡¯s his dream

but its more

like a spiritual quest

for the power

the dark spirit

to rest.

***

with hands crawling climbing

his dreams finally culminate

reaching and ripping

his body from flesh

with a fresh chill to still

his soul deeper inside

he confides the discovery:

peace beyond reach.

=

this is

God¡¯s earth before me

not three miles ahead

but here in this bed

of imperfect turf

and I am with God;

my new home is anywhere

whole at the center

since three days before

when I took his advice

against reaching and ripping

my core; this hole

into which Christ could pour.

The blindness that calls itself Justice

Here are the brothers

who murdered my Grandmother.

Here is the coat

they bought with SSI

then forgot

at her house

after they murdered my Grandmother.

Here’s the nice stuff

that they took from her house

and then sold to get clothes

the night after

they murdered my Grandmother.

Here is the family

that watches the trial

of their sons

who murdered my Grandmother.

Here is the Father

who sucks air from a tank

who lets me go first

who humbles himself down

who looks grievous as I

cause he knows

his sons murdered my Grandmother.

Here is the talk

where I eavesdrop and hear

the Dad telling his kids

they can’t afford parking

cause they got towed before

so they can’t see the trial

of their brothers

who murdered

my Grandmother.

Here is my pocket

that holds a free pass

to the parking garage

because someone murdered

my Grandmother.

Here are the families, both of them victims: one family rich, whose pain is assuaged; one family poor, who gets no parade.

Here is the blindness that calls itself justice: helping the rich, ignoring the poor, though the money thing led them to kick in her door.

Here is the moment

where I hand my free parking

to the trembling hand

of the bloodshot-eyed father

of the boys

who murdered

my Grandmother.

the girl with lollipop eyes

the girl with

lollipop-eyes,

butterfly-lashes,

cloud-top laughter

cries about

the relentlessly cruel

people

she works with.

in a silent moment,

she will reach out in conversation,

to get burned by their callousness

again and again

Why do you reach? I ask her

A wild animal, trapped,

may call to your heart,

only to lash out

when you approach.

The animal is stressed;

your approach stresses it more.

So don¡¯t reach out:

you will get hurt

and now two need help.

Stand back,

it will lick its wounds,

and later, maybe,

you can free its leg.

You can grow strong

from a distance,

but you will never heal

through compulsive compassion.

¡¦¡¦

She thanks me for the metaphor,

¡°Do I pay you at the door?¡±

Ha, ha.

¡¦¡¦

I am also a wild animal.

On the surface, I smile, give good advice.

but get too close,

and I will lash out.

Those who have loved me

have learned the price.

They all leave,

bearing the scars

of hearts

once too open.

In this way,

one wound

becomes many.

My parents¡¯ divorce

teaches heartbreak

to an entire

generation.

so be strong, protect yourself.

ignore my pleas for help.

A wolf also has puppy-dog eyes.

Let me lick my wounds.

Before you offer me lollipops.