Let me tell you the truth about the mundane

It is the revelation of the mysterious. It is chromosomal wisdom. It is

The philosophy of the little everything that connects the seas to the earth to the air

That invisible slice of a slice of a giant speckle of a neutron

Like this sketch, pencil on this paper, revealing

the little things I missed for years.

At the forge, I was the apple of the eye, painting apples for my parents with seeds,

I watched the shrub grow from the heavens, unborn and curious with the angels helping my little legs.

No order in the kingdom as

The tree stretched into the troposphere, obscuring rain, rotten glistening fruit weighing certain branches

The healthy ones covered in dust.

Angry hands swatting two good globes, stomping them in the mud.

The pencil shades and shows and shies from those ugly fingers

That belong to a person I once loved, who’s nothing more than a creature now— the vilest bat

An organism who has focused on eliminating

The next species of the darlings.

Again and again, I watched the liars storm the battlefield with bronze weapons, holding familiar flags

Villainy passed from mother to child. How do I describe the brute nature of this brute?

How do you explain finding an enemy in the fold? How do you describe the crime? How do you say, “We once shared a name?”

Tell me how to not feel like a fool. Teach me to not be shocked. Tell me once more. How could we not see the treachery in the lie?

I oscillate between revenge and indifference. I take prayer pills of truth to soothe my memory while we cleanse the fruits

I can tell the pencil to sketch the images of this being giving me sweet treats as a child. Giving me a wretched nickname. Sending me well wishes wrapped in spite.

My flaming sword and spear, invincible shield and armour, thunderous power from the throne

I denounce any affiliation any connection any association. In any amount or account or weight.

Don’t add broken lines to our circle. It is a blasphemy of the genes. This biological infraction of kinship

I have severed over and over in my mind

Today I do it in ink.

Let me tell you the truth about the mundane

It is the revelation of the mysterious. It is chromosomal wisdom. It is

The philosophy of the little everything that connects the seas to the earth to the air

That invisible slice of a slice of a giant speckle of a neutron

Like this sketch, pencil on this paper, revealing

the little things I missed for years.

At the forge, I was the apple of the eye, painting apples for my parents with seeds,

I watched the shrub grow from the heavens, unborn and curious with the angels helping my little legs.

No order in the kingdom as

The tree stretched into the troposphere, obscuring rain, rotten glistening fruit weighing certain branches

The healthy ones covered in dust.

Angry hands swatting two good globes, stomping them in the mud.

The pencil shades and shows and shies from those ugly fingers

That belong to a person I once loved, who’s nothing more than a creature now— the vilest bat

An organism who has focused on eliminating

The next species of the darlings.

Again and again, I watched the liars storm the battlefield with bronze weapons, holding familiar flags

Villainy passed from mother to child. How do I describe the brute nature of this brute?

How do you explain finding an enemy in the fold? How do you describe the crime? How do you say, “We once shared a name?”

Tell me how to not feel like a fool. Teach me to not be shocked. Tell me once more. How could we not see the treachery in the lie?

I oscillate between revenge and indifference. I take prayer pills of truth to soothe my memory while we cleanse the fruits

I can tell the pencil to sketch the images of this being giving me sweet treats as a child. Giving me a wretched nickname. Sending me well wishes wrapped in spite.

My flaming sword and spear, invincible shield and armour, thunderous power from the throne

I denounce any affiliation any connection any association. In any amount or account or weight.

Don’t add broken lines to our circle. It is a blasphemy of the genes. This biological infraction of kinship

I have severed over and over in my mind

Today I do it in ink.