shrive

If only; I could confess; that I am no warrior at all; if I had to fight her.

This is the drag of night; caught in the slipstream of ennui: but when sleep
wrings my arms; her grip is never so much- a grip - as a grip; but is merely
the touch of a miracle; merely comfort; merely rest. She hauls the blanket
from afar and throws it upon the cadaver of my soul; cover the delirium;
hide the murmurs of a heart. Oh, how she whispers to me. "Good

night for now. And fight the future tomorrow; not tonight." And pray,
that moonshine will take these lifewounds away from hellhounds
and hell.

"And I will be the penance to the awakedness; the pain you feel. Good

night for now."


cuRRent...jer  ¶ 8:14 pm