To Place on the Tongue

Yearning and cravings so bright

they trip the light of my hovering

steel wings flapping above dreams of

one more hit in that sanctuary called

No Return.

***

Bang bang bang she calls me Headstrong,

heartstrong at wrong turns, regretfully so

although they go, and the spurns of an epoch

forget the one seed beneath

the bleed of fortunes.

***

So, I take another, and another — 

the porous pill so promising in the

return of understanding words and ideas

with eagle eyes that spy where its prey

will even fight holy men.

***

You’ll say that trauma fastened these

seat belts so tight in a cul-de-sac acknowledgment

that no freedom begets freedom,

or that tiny ass up in my face blocking the view

of killing wasps.

***

So, I will quit only to have Love again sting the

hearth of my heart. For having created God again,

the likelihood of moving again in form,

wicked or not, in a teacup of temptation,

is so insignificant it hurts.