“Before now, I used to think death was the
nothing every other thing returns to,
but it’s safer, I suppose, to learn by practice.”

“What becomes of the soil you walk upon;
When time is not as flat nor as straight
but it unfolds regardless?”

“What if I am the man who does the hurting?
He too stalks my mother’s songs.
He is first father like the woman is first mother.
I am the hand choking my glittered heart.
I am the one who undos the skull’s seams,
teeter towards the great reveal,

“I wonder why people can’t see beauty
without wanting to put a dagger in it.
Don’t be afraid is the line used
when someone carries the intent of harming.”

“every god has its own song, its own dance, its own ritual:
a warlord swallows a pinch of fire, spits a volume of fury”

“Maybe this is a metaphor for overbearing love
That wants to be seen
That wants to give until it’s dead- even
When it’s dead.
Or maybe I’m just a poet”

“The Nile comes to me in a dream, shouting, Who betrays you? I reply, Even you
wash the soil from our hills. You don’t get to ask me that.”

They, as if never knowing hunger
Tied a man
Marched him to a knife
Under God’s blue sky.

“Dear God,
Won’t you whisper to the man on the pulpit
that old things have passed away?”

The fact is: I have read the script. It says: God speaks to me
in a strange dialect; it says I would know when God’s hands graze my body.