This is my only threat
an empty page.
This is the new
escape to be divine
or to divine answers
to questions unpacked.
(We are here. Folded.)
I saw a desert in a fever dream,
the raw red rock shot straight up
the bowl of my people.
I see meaning in the curves of a vase-
move my line lengths to show you the way.
I can show you how my monsters devour,
their demon teeth run in rows
deep, like a mirror facing a mirror.
We hide over a vowel,
under the constant consonant
to practice perfect enlightenment
or rehearse the verbiage to a “t”.
(What are we when we are in our skins?)
Not free from our faiths but free of our faiths.
They will collide, a friction of pockets on a gravel road.
We turn away from the page to breathe.