Protect Your Heck

The years are many and grief seemed to 
approach us with crimson agenda, 
but goodness can manifest like lice like cotton 

you remember the days when sunlight smelled of 
pussy, the Jessicas, Danas (there are more) 
(there are more of us than we counted) 
and you find the lines that don't quit 
the days and their contents that can be reconnected. 

Girls in your house, spending the night watching movies. 
Bubbles of cheer in their company. 
You remember where your hands have been, 
what they pulled towards your ear with ghostly aplomb. 

You remember the secret freedom 
that your heart, the god, whispered 
to the name of your soul.   

There is a soul. It dies.
There's a soul that wishes to be taken care of
and it will wipe away the crimson, the grief,
and you'll know the beginning of things, 
the world and the sun and every other
animal that steers with its tail
instead of chasing it. 





**** 

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