The quarrel with myself continues
hour by hour – no reconciliation –
little ascents and collapses,
a turning back,
the same ground appearing, less defined in compromised light,
signs torn down or graffitied over with symbols from outsourced cans.
Counterfeit gods murmur without as well as within –
I toss, estranged,
in not choosing,
A parade of creatures marches by to hawk their wares.
First, an old tom turkey regaled in a quivering fan – see me, see me, see me.
Then the ducks – 2 drakes and a hen, fall like tri-cut Icarus,
wings charred by mating fire.
I think rape, they squawk instinct and tumble in a snow of feathers.
An old opossum ambles by at dusk, refusing to play dead or grip stability with its tail.
A loping raccoon, leads an alley cat on a wild goose chase, enticing me to play.
If I choose wrong what becomes of me?
The woman who paints a world I need to see,
woman unnerved by snakes,
startled by sudden noises,
faithful to a fault.
The world has become a podium of sirens,
a widening asphalt of deceit, a force of obligation to opposite causes
and broken churches.
What does it mean to desire compassion, and not sacrifice?
Is it okay to be confused?
Father, forgive me, I know not what to do.