Pilgrimage

touch like slivered
         words
mine are the scars
         to trace
                                    winding their own merry way

and here is the end where even my god
              fears to set his foot.

so?
        are
              you
                    ready
                             to
                                 be
                                     taken
                                             by
                                                  my
                                                      little
                                                            hunger?
   
Forever tastes like this.

silver buttons on quiet shores
lies like shimmering lucidity upon which is balanced some small winged angel

wings to beat against the fury, like tossing pennies
    into a wishing well made of liquid god.
wings to shelter human skin prone to cracking under the strain of holding us in.
wings to hide behind
wings to sob against

we have no wings.

we are left then with craving, crying, crawling.

—

                     Let them come
                     Let them come
                     And ask

                                   why we must
                                          always have this

      driving anger
             fucking about
                   till every inch of the hard-biting cry
                                                                      Ends.

             for I know them too well.

    I am
                 too animal to be human
                         too human to be more