Relentless

Somewhere, we are whole.

Complete in form and function

And in places

That I cannot name

But seem familiar

I heal and center

In the cambium and the forest

In my body and soul

As they must be confined to pillars of self

…and in some cases others.

Sequestered upon the network for which we rely

And in this moment I have to ask; how are gods made?

As I have seen how gods are broken—

Like a keyboard sonata that pulls towards the center

Shearing at the dreams of self.

like a condor tearing at carrion.  

 How is this not what we are?

In the experience

Where I think I’ve aged a thousand years in a week

There is an emptiness I cannot place

Where potential and coalescence

Should have overlapped—

By now.

How remedial I feel,

 brought down by foolishness

in our weakest part

the creatures that exploit weakness.

Of poisons and talons, ideas and thought

eat them, bathe in their blood

exploit their weaknesses

As we feel the little deaths of self acutely

As if burning the boats

Relentlessly

As if the warpath

justifies the wake of chaos

Like machines taking to the sky—

It was never my role.

I am not a healer.

It is not my job to give a shit.

I sense in the deliverance

in the psychosis of our enemies.

Particular and acute and still Blunt and obvious.

They are already defeated.

As artillery of thought lays waste to their petty sense of worth

Relentlessly

These moments become all that we have and are

As if my life unfolds like a battleground before me

And must lift the weight of my soul,

 as shield and sword, liquid and crystal

to the unforeseen moments of the future.