it starts with

a surge,


the intersect of

neck, solar plexus,


words — — then,

the dark descent


down, down into

the cave drawings


of who am i?





built for

slow idolatry


and waiting:

which is its


own electricity—




after all is


said and done;

after all the


battles fought—

few won;


what am i here for?







maybe the place you’ve been stabbed in the

back is where the wings begin to sprout.


maybe we are the same one hundred people

returning to earth again and again until the


truth comes out: who we really are, what we

are here to do, how the sun is a dual entity:


for life-energy and for fire. if god can feel

wrath and jealousy, what hope have we?


multiples recycling through this planet,

spending lifetimes growing wings,


swimming through the dark glass

mumbling thank you and please.