She isn't your child. Yet you punish her. She isn't your slave. Yet she works as one. She loves you like no one ever has. Yet you put words into her silent mouth and slap her wet cheeks. I pray for your swift end and our swift deliverance, that you may no further condemn yourself, and we may no more wet your socks.
2-8-19
-for Saul
YOU ARE READING
Blind Leading Blind
PoetryMy third book of poetry. Sometimes I just can't see, yet somehow I find words, and if someone understood them, they'd look around and wonder where I led them. And I couldn't say. I couldn't say. -October Listen, in the peace of nonpursual. Words yo...
