I have a protector, a guide, a huge black man, old, wise beyond
mere words, respected, feared by all. He radiates agelessness,
Herculean strength. He follows me a few steps behind, whispering
comfort, helping me negotiate the trials of the day.
With every breath I am surprised to find myself here.
What terrible sin has caused god to cast me into this land.
every day I have the revelation, I know the sin.
It is unspeakable. but I did not know,
every day, I did not know.
It was my life which is the sin.
every day I weep for forgiveness, and it will not come
every day I search for conspirators, to scratch through the walls, to
build ladders from our hair, to dig tunnels with the bones of our
every day there is only complacency.
every day the yard is full of wandering men, comfortable with their
fate, with the judgement which has been cast on them. which they
cast on themselves and each other
Every day my protector follows me, hand firm on my shoulder,
holding me steady, warding off the evils lesser men would do to
every day I pray to god, through the endless stream of tears,
forgive me, please, let me go, and I will not live this life again.
every day I know this is a lie.
every day I know there is no god.
every day I know I do not believe in a god, where there is proof of

the other day, while looking at some paintings, I pondered the
nature of beauty, the attempt to catch its moment, the revelation of
it's moment. How painful beauty truly is. How inarticulate
we/artists become in its naked face. What glorious failures we are.
Running for the pleasure of it.