We’re allowed to bear witness to the impossible & walk away,
unfazed. Just as we’re allowed to collapse in a heap,
rumpled & tear-torn over a bad dream that means nothing,
conceived of in heat frenzy.
But, I’d rather feel the heat than shelter in the eye of the storm.
I’d rather laugh with dust in my throat &
love with the fiercest fronts of me than
catalogue this history of extraordinary events with
decimaled precision. No library for me.
I want to wear it. I’ll forego the apron for a
second helping. I’ll even help you to yours,
if you let me.
Here, I’ll throw up the map after I eat these words,
tasting each flavor along the pin ball game
of my tongue. On the way down and the way back up.
Because life ought to be lived in the first person.
Kiss me if you don’t believe me.
Believe me now?
Go ahead and stick your own flesh & blood
hand in the cavity of your creation.
Wild, isn’t it?
To feel it moving.