Tuesday, September 6, 2016

All the many things
That broke that day,
being too stark to mention,
clustered hard into a lump
that lived in the back of her throat
always ready to stop her 

And neighbors with hearts of cherry pie could stretch their minds eyes as wide as they might see
And still
They could scrape great efforts from bowls of scribbled theories 
or mix together twisted scriptures
To deliver her the 'truth that hurts'
even Jesus' heart

and she would still be 
sleeping with her eyes open
Dreaming vivid things,
ill and wild
as a mad black wave,
trying not to 
take the train
her mother did
before it was even literal

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