Saints drown in shallow waters
while greed braves the Deep.
deconstructed, spelled down,
a hollow armor for tender meat
eyes of needles, thread of lashes, a web of glances and stares,
laughters and sighs.
Mixed but concentrated, separated, disassociated,
severed but not bleeding. Personality like a worm.
sunlight spin, night distilled,
shadows clean away the waste of light.
words lose their contrived accent and our mouths
are in direct connection to our heart.
we lament. we beg. we cry. we scream. we curse.
we pray in tear choked sobs to invisible ears.
the new light like the old light arrives and
the shadows flee back to their nests of contours and gradients.
Overexposed, we become aware of seeing and of being seen.
That sublime privacy was an illusion,
it's the same old world after all and this is another day like the old day
like everyday before.
The rock is overturned, the heart retreats and disconnects,
burrows and conceals, lest it be dried out
by ridicule, rejection, or indifference.
The heat of illuminated social interaction is a temperature
too great to risk the vulnerability of a wet truth.
Identity, not humanity.
Expectations, not dreams.
Demands, not morality.
Laws, not ethics.