The Soul Rushes Not

Though I hurry to utter what cannot be said

Recent sketch

The Soul Rushes Not

I know the signs
they pinch and spell caution
from the sidelines
lines upon lines
have I written my story
of vexing and plight
a body ruptured by light
the oily residue of time
leaks into the
soul I carry like a thief
who must stay sharp
in these violent times
these waning days
where time is approaching
serious and stark
and there is so much to do
and it cannot be done in the dark
for that is where
I will spend my days
when I must depart
that dark that shall announce
itself like light
I will not realize
till it pierces me with silence
as I become that rite of passage
and the body falls to sleep
I do not live with my wounds
but I live by means of them
by the means of this terrible thinning of skin
for I feel so keenly
the touch of every living thing
and the grammar of my life
concentrates these darting eyes
toward every living person
who has failed and still tried
as I have done so many times
through lines upon lines
with the striving search for words
my soul has no need to find

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