compassion felt in my chest,
in my abdominals,
in my mind…it hurts
i cannot speak
of such atrocity
as I have heard about
i feel sick
what inhuman entity
would do such things
no human
could
one would have to be
possessed
by the devil
do you follow such creatures?
do they inhabit you too?
scrub yourself with hyssop
tongs to your tongue with heaven’s burning coal
the tongue is out of control…the final fruit
is self-control…line up the tongue
with God’s Holy Spirit
speak life…be whole
WTF burning bright with pondering ink.
Graceful swans or blackbirds skedaddling
across the vast and empty space. The think
kerplunking into cavernous link.
The quill flying…descriptives diving
onto the writer’s canvas…surviving.
WTF, loud and clear, dear John…
the calligraphic rend of relationship…
The salutation is a haunting paragon.
Parisian-perfumed paper is withdrawn.
The ebony of the crow’s feather, fitting.
His abdominals are eternally splitting.
WTF, wet with mascara tears. Joy
at the indoctrination of its mirth,
bearing personalities of a girl and boy.
To induce was another cousin’s ploy -
joining in on the birth experience fun,
flexing his muscles, nearly triplets spun.
WTF, wading in pools of grace, prayerful rest
of folded hands - serenity glides over vellum.
The ink, so gentle, melodic, transfigured, blessed.
Saint’s swan lyrics - God’s glory expressed.
Whisper of angels, feathers like baby’s-breath.
Resurrected quill in pall of Christ’s death.
Gym exuberance of inflated expectations,
a zone of grunt and sweat
I curl my way to fifty crunches,
sit ups like the urgency of passion
My puffing, a heart racing horror,
gulped breath like frayed bag pipes
groaning
Misplaced faith that ripped abdominals
will return
comforting false belief, the glue of gym religion
trying to barter with time
to restore a faded body image
This flabby stomach resisting restoration
subdued by the clarity of aging
Hushed denial that youthful prime has been cut in two
like an apple severed
Where to shake blame's finger?
Gym mirror strikes a keen awareness of self
as my reflective stare craves a different truth
to soften the starch of aging
to soothe the bully tones of real
When truth cannot be unglued from what the mirror
tells you
Poem composed: June 6, 2021
Revised: July 28/21
Fine foods leave behind a clean plate
Great meals create stomachs oblate
But bodies too fat
Crave abdominals flat
And can't wait to regurgitate