my confidence, oh confidence,
it’s shattered.
a bald eagle, ubiquitous in these parts
like pigeon in strip mall parking lot,
sits high atop a low building, wings
askew. is it drying itself?
is it in pain?
does it hold its wing with
the same tenderness that i try
to hold my fleeing head?
put a hood up and listen
to the lust of the rain. bury
your head and see what you can
convince to remain.
my confidence is shattered
and i have not seen
anything
quite so beautiful
in months.
she left me in a boat
and i have always been
a strong swimmer. last night another
one brought me back to my animal.
a few nights past i was quietly spoken
to about ferality; mind and
its hunt for brain. perhaps my
animal took into its hinged jaws
the remnants of my winged
confidence;
it is of stained glass so as to be
shattered. it is pliable
like bruise. it is
another way to try
to fit my mouth around beauty,
a lolling tongue only
beginning to become
accustomed, the weightless space given it
by that which has broken and
left. rightly so? it cannot be determined,
these versions of judgement have lost
their meaning, they now find stunned
rest in the round ringing
of honey’d bells.
confidence, it gets in the way
of fervency.
the bones that hold us up, are given
to worship.
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