I hear you’ve been asking about me.
I was away,
walking a jungle path,
staying quiet so as not to disturb
the rightful owners of the land.
I have nothing in my hand,
nothing up my sleeve
but fire and bile,
song and spit
and a readiness to die.
I hear you don’t love me anymore.
I smile at that, I lick my teeth and grin.
I’m made of love from lip to shin,
so much it’s standing room only,
with more in the trees and underground.
I was never lost
so can’t be found.
I’ve been in the moment,
looking deeper than I was told,
not growing old,
breaking rules that were and were not
meant to be broken.
July 2, 2016