Take my humility
Take the cankered poems of the suffering elite
Make me proud
Proud of failure
Make me proud of those I’ve hurt
Make me stand tall, breast out-right
For the cowardice that made me say nothing
In the presence of my own humiliation
Make me a fool for myself, for my own honor
Bring me to the brink of power
That asks power of me to make myself powerful
For the powerful, the ask for the give
The give that lets power slouch like a fucking coward, power-hungry and smoldering

Take my cowardice
Take my claims to appropriation of emotional goods
The things that bind me to a cycle of a lie-inducing truth
A binding agent cogent within a fermenting waste
Sing to me a hymn of my own debauchery
The thing that most encapsulates my trajectory
Of raucous self-flattery, of a bacchus pouring-out of ritual gorging
Take the choke-on-blood laughter of the swallowed knife joke –
The humor of dying ideals –
Take the memory of fatherlessness in a wasteland of utopia –
Trellised, many-tendriled,

And plant one seed.

Every song permits one sheer shaft of light
On a single degree
Of three hundred and sixty sides
Of one whole.
The godhead shaped like a geometric perfection
And each degree
The one single private, embarrassed feeling
Of a favorite song
Heard on the radio
Driving home, rainward
With my brother.
Years ago.


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