It is icy.
"You can let go if you need to."
I would not drop these bottles to save myself.
"But you can. Consider if you don't."
There would be repercussions.
"What would they be?"
Blood and wine mixing, thawing the pavement -
the imagery is a little Christ heavy don't you think?
"Do you have a God complex."
Only so far as
my mistakes in this alley are for someone else
to clean up
to watch from a window
to feast on
we could go so far as to say I am a walking favor
even in death.
"Oh there is no good you know that."
Yes there only is
Him waiting at the iron gate
But my hands -
My hands -
A dawn of a new year and the world resolves to begin again. For some of us, it is a day whose antics we reject and instead, simply carry on. But of course I refused to wash myself lest I lose any luck the transition brought me. Continue on unwashed I did. Wondering what of my spirit of disreview and unresolve? What of rejection of backwards or fore? I organized under cabinets and other small spaces, I played the guitar and ate rice, imagining myself devout and undistractedly devoted. That this was and is everyday. The peas and rice, the quiet, disciplined movement in a solitary reverence to the task. For moments, I was a saint. Beyond flesh, looking up and up. The rice only sustaining in the least fulfilling of ways. Up I was, unpenetrable and filled. Full with piety, I become easy tyrannical. I eat each pea with secret glea. My sunken flesh and hard jawline a trophy. Bearing my body as a burden but in my heart, deep in my heart, I am proud. On the cobbled walkways, the click of a simple but well-soled shoe. The earth holds the blood of believers before me. I say "I will join you." That too fills me up. Back in my room, out of my head and only surrounded by the glow of a table lamp, I think I miss believing. I wonder if it is easier. In this moment, glowing, I remember.
Tens o’ thousand miles up off o’ the floor