the anatomy of compromise
i am breathing volcanic love songs with paper-thin
charring my cheeks, my tongue, getting words wrong.
they didn't give me a harp-
or they did- only i broke it-
(but i think they made it out of pleasure on purpose).
now all the good deeds go to Him Next Door.
but He, gracious He with the self-affixed H,
as though he could weigh a scale down further than I,
(He forgets that the art of music is weightless)
does not understand that you sleep on my shoulder.
and i, tiny as a thought and vast as an epiphany,
listened in when you were dreaming.
the human soul is a pursuit predator...
i could almost admire the way you gave me red bones.
it was hardier than His weightless lantern skeleton
and taffeta skin, silk-lined mouth, gold-upholstered tongue,
as though He were a child's toy at Halloween,
as though you were still a child.
you and He have plans.
i saw them, one night, when you dreamt.
i stopped burning and sharpening the chips of my broken harp.
i stilled in my neathderthal, charcoal scratchings at the base of your skull.
and i saw that thick, muffling sky spread like a whore's legs
for your virtue.
i saw it tighten
as you pulled it from the east
and west until the stars burned
through it like a midnight apocalypse
the thinnest veil in my universe,
the closest I will ever be.
your traitorous form slid inside.
He pulled you through, and I was extinguished in a moment
without fanfare or protest or notice.
it was not freedom because i was not chained. i was only the chain.
one day, you dreamt of breaking me.
He smiles at you when you follow this road.
He even smiles at me as though I am a small child
hanging behind my mothers skirts.
little does He know just how close i am to your neck.
to your esophagus and nostrils and brain.
you are a pursuit predator,
but i am a monster,
and you do not know me. neither does He.
He does not understand that you sleep on the shoulder that i live on.
He does not know
that i don't have red bones,
that i don't have paper skin,
that my metaphors are the anatomy of compromise.
but the truce was always broken, and i was not told.
you sleep with your left side down
your heart pressed closer to me.
you sleep with your ear pressed to my mouth
your body inking me red with comprehension.
you are heavy, but your dreams are weightless.
and you will hang before i die.