Dredging

My flawed eyes lifted heavenward
Stray to a stain on the pew.
The way home measured beneath my feet
By a legion of crunching oyster shells
And my bowed head alone
Must bear the accretion of spectral cries,
The absurdity of bivalve dreams
Calcified and circatidal
Lining my driveway.
I despise the fullness of myself,
The self-aware Odyssey of folly
Gambols and jibes
Laugh at my sight
And lips so dry
Yet drunk on this
Stumbling on that.
Storm clouds for eyes,
I pluck them out
The only gift I can offer
To place on your altar,
Dust snowing them under.
Heresy
I know
Again, heresy.
Oh, bless the spiders
In my honeyed sockets
Spinning truth for me
Finally
Saving me.
I weep silk webs
For the crunching underfoot
For the deafening sorrow
Which abides in a whimper
And for the murderous beauty of it all.
I rebuke the thunderous eyes,
The trophied dust
And reliquary
Hallowing the sacrament
Beneath your feet.

Reviews

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

a temple is not a building, it is a place where one finds shelter. and in this work i saw a persona being able to find that place to feel completely vulnerable, andin doing so, discover some kind of closure, or at least wound closing up. it is in its own way a beautiful thing, and i consider it a privilige to read these words. so much is explored, so many things touched upon, but in such a gentle way. we find the presence of grace.