we who overflow with emptiness

No matter how fast I run, no matter how low I lie, no matter how far I get.

My outstretched hands, with trembling laced fingers,

seem unable to contain the right words and actions.

No matter, no matter, no matter, no ma-

But I need them.

In this strange world I need them all the time.

The mysterious treasures slip through my grasp

just as I recognize their mighty worth

effortlessly spilling into the thirsty cracks of the lonely dirt road:

lost forever in the layers of archeological time.

I like to imagine that Hell's angels plunder our losses.

The ruby of "right"; the diamond of "normal"; even the

tarnished golden locket that knows my childhood.

Lost by the work of a single drop of Rain that provoked

a tsunami.

It was so fateful, yet so inevitable

As the shimmering skin of my cup bulged with despicable eagerness.

I am a gray situation.

Dragging hopes even blacker

is the realization that things were not always this way.

Regression demoralizes faster than you can say

“it’s ok”.

And by the time you do, it’s too late anyways.

For every leaf and every love apple that falls

thereonafter

just sits suspended in the atmosphere.

Unable to rise, unable to fall,

unable to escape the middle passage.

It’s an arms race of everything,

when what we want is too much,

and what we really need, who knows?

My needs

I surrender to the One who promises gain from loss.

I surrender again, again, and again.