My Place in This Thing

OhDearGodDearLove, here we go again (chagrined)
in a write-out of all this drudge and over-dubiosity
about myself and my place in this thing
I tremble in and crumble down,
round-eyed but fright-less.

Fisting-up these twig burl fingers pumped against heaven,
a lifting out from this crackle-shacked cripple act gains momentum.

In the gritting skin of my grimaced grin stretched
to maximum capacity, I give in to the meme

of this dreamland horror show.

I give notice.

Thunderous across the scorch of a body field razed down daily,
the broad mind refinement of this bone-cage parody gains ground
as the sound of my typing taps in tempo to a spinal jive pin-down.

I cannot be confounded by the believer who would leave me
needy and fearful of a future not meant to be free
from expansive acts of pain.

I have tuned out the shouters of credentials imbedded
in these stanzas that could stand in the way
of the middle ground
shoring me forward.

Sometimes it’s like rising upon sea-weedy waves
from a deep grave filled with long good-byes
lasting into the night …

and I’m crying through the salt-doll babble talk
as I bobble along in probabilities, willing
the scatter-fall death of my fears rib-bone buried
in the past memory of poison recalled in this heart.

I am not God’s walking stick, nor the trick knee keeping me
tied-up in terror-tales bordering on the unintellible ramblings
of a brow-beaten, disease eaten mad-woman.

These crookly feet faltering under my limp-along legs,
they hold the power of earth and sky between them
in a hard-fleshed chalice carved with ghostly incantations.

This lament of my own tongue-less, raptured race
is the faceted face, my face in a mirror
seeking the Grace of a God
long ago gone quiet.

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