exposure

in those days
i grew a bitter spine
took my flask & cigarettes
to a hardbridge railroad overpass--
i took long exposure photographs
of the dark and all
its bitter-bitten souls.




april 2012

speaking of

irony is hilarious.
my life is very ironic.
i hate irony.

grace

grace: 
a bitter taste, her many indiscretions
piled up, with smug remorse:
i approach sidelong
as one does a hot fire in the evening
seeking warmth, not wanting singed.
blinded by the flames i pick out individual sins:
one deferred defense, some hard-stung silence,
much rough-hewed patience, disgruntled and unkempt.
she is a clumsy, thoughtless thing, this grace
whose grasp i cannot shake and yet
seems ever reaching out, and never in.
i hug my knees along the radius of her heat
half in, half out, and wait.
cruel wisdom speaks: "for i 
desire mercy, not sacrifice--" and i
by that tender measure, suddenly see
this half-grace construct so composed:
a pity-show, a horror-scheme,
pornography of Self enflamed!
and numbly know then--nothing.  --yet
the warmth, as yet extended, of burning 
grace remains.








may 2012