All The Beautiful Messes We Make | James Diaz
(For Monty)
Every word
wonderfully erased
every wound
the last place
you thought to look
underneath the tongue
a stretch of night
so migrant
it tears at the stitch
of your obsessives
all of the stumbling forth
the pain, the craziness
I prayed for that
crawling
out of body
every day
a land mine
the soul has to cross
better in that grassy knoll
up ahead
& you are up and this is a life
& you can’t shrug it off
though you may want nothing more
than total oblivion
you better store that poison somewhere else
look how human your hands are
and all that they hold.
