Perfect
I know that God
can not exist,
because I know
that you, in fact,
do exist.
For me, you are perfect.
I am told that humans are flawed
thru God’s own hands, and yet
He Himself is described
as flawless.
No thinking being
could have made you.
A safe man
would get it all wrong.
An insane man
could get close,
but add too much.
You are balance, in the same way
that gravity is balance.
Stable, unflinching,
I can not fight you.
You are a mistake. You are
perfect.
All Parts Used
inside me, three
decades
of hunting accidents. a
forest
of misfired conversations.
of exhausted mosh-pit
nurses. the stove
mistakenly
left on.
woods where every
creature
is doomed to shyness; their
hearts
grafted and stitched up
beneath the sleeves
of trembling arms.
i am a hunter.
that’s what i come here to
tell myself.
searching
for a version of me
that others may someday
miss
once he’s gone.
I guess I didn’t have the right aspirations to game the system
Desolate boy
fidgeting hand in glove
A face only a chainsaw could love
Pirouette/prance
across the stage of glass
needing respite but just couldn’t ask
Body atrophy
exhausted routine descend
variations on the same dead end
Loosened grip
away the ribbon twirls
an Irish goodbye into the Spirit World
Flights, Issue Thirteen, August 2024
Flight of the dragonfly 