a ritual of empty cups

consuming; podcast music book movie.
these days consume me. solitary
in a blinking home, what is it
that i create? in absence—apophatic?— 
of supplication, i prostrate 
my mind at the altar of milk-steaming wand, 
its foaming shriek a call to prayer. 
my beads hang impotently about my neck, 
finding rest upon my breast. they are not
pregnant with a lineage of ripe words, 
blossom of lips, pursed, 
bringing coined compost to a garden
of my deities. i am pro-choice, perhaps 
this is why my mind is hollow? the day 
stretches long and i wait for its quivering
sting, the inevitable recoil 
from this tensioning; a day desires of me 
just as i desire of it. the self-reflection of 
self-loather is enemy, a mirror throwing 
your love back at you. you created it 
and now it is yours to consume. are we all 
lonely? oh heart, the constant
hunger. our muttering,
singing need.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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