Do Something
 
His mouth is full of light.
He clamps it shut.
I know
he’s filled,
without
my alabaster breast.
I’m left heavy
with what
he doesn’t need.

A humming grows
as a star rises
on the plain.
In the manger,
animals sway,
sensing rhythm.

Beating wings.
A terrible wind.
 
I sit on refuse and hay
in a filthy dress,
rake fingers through
my hair.
Stare at him.
As if
he could do something.


 
Different
 
Like the fox, I run with the hunted
-Charles Bukowski
 
It’s gaining on you.
It’s got your name on it,
and it’s the end
of everything.
You’re afraid.
Don’t look away.
Lean into it.
Become its twin.
 
If it’s easier,
open your arms
to someone else’s disaster.
Take on what they give you.
 
Let it ruin you,
whatever it is.
 
The worst damage
is done in the bones
of the soul.
That’s where
you’re changed.
 
Maybe
it won’t kill you. 
Of course,
it won’t make you stronger, either.
Just different.