December, 2019

The Angel of Myself Is Not Forgiveness

When the sun spit its light over the mountains I had only climbed down from a few days earlier, I kicked to life a fire I did not make and ignored the slow music of the world to which each of us dance before departing.

Kaizo Block*

So much is defined by the shape of our pain.
The scar on my arm where my thumb rubbed through layer after layer of skin.

Mega Man

I learned his patterns, parried his bombs,
got all up in his face, all up in his guts.
If I kept him running, he could never fire.