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.
zakschafer.com 