I count the cost of
living
Barter my many corners of
existing
Christ calling on the
forsaken to forsake but
the cross of flesh was
bruised

In the twilight, I am blue mixed with
blood
In the night I am a silver swollen sadness

I sleep sound in the grace of
empty, both a hollow feel and
reign-less steering
Coarse around the edges like a
lump on a potter's wheel,
except I am folding like a landslide
slipping into myself as I crumble

Cast your stones among the
lessers, leprosy of the mind
limbs loose and lesion'd
As a leech you
seek your love from the
chronic lonely

Liken the lowly
a mirror of downward glances
glass that breaks then
fractures the image
inhuman but feeling