The Wreckage

i grasp
broken mirrors,

turn away;

try to catch light.

by grace, God
gives me the
sun. in return, I give
him my mind.

hands cold,
covered in clay:
dirty,
then whisked away.

when this vessel speaks,
i am,
weak.
held by its tongue,
like fake love,
immersed
in its soliloquies:
synecdoches sung
saccharine,
like symphonies.

Feet that wander towards
Sodom are
connected to bodies that

bury their hands
in the mud
and listen to their mouths
beg for more,

Or for
lies

between my lips

that
turn up
in slips;
that
leave me
praying

i’ll grip and tether
this mind,
packed with restriction and bind.

Leaving the circus,
kissing Sisyphus goodbye.

i’ll
lay down the chisel.

Eject the wreckage,

one day
i’ll call it mine.