Remorse

I call Remorse
by her first name.
She sits with me,
reminds me of autonomy,
and the consequences of "to be."

She weighs upon my soul
occupying a different heaviness
than other close ones -
Heartbreak,
Grief,
Resentment.

A club of dark figures
Collectively
charcoaling in the shadows
within the lines
of my hollow mind.

Remorse is worse than the rest.
She reminds me that it is me this time.

No mother, no Father, no Consolation
will transfer this illness to another being, some other force.

Remorse holds a mirror to my face and says, look closely, how ugly, how weak.
And when I look, I see, I agree.

My Cosmology

I was once under the deception of science,

I once believed that the weather, the elements, the matter

were all logical, empirical.

I am now reborn in truth.

Now I know the Rain as the tears of a young woman on top of a mountain

who looks down on the Earth - her lover - dry and distant.

(this is why the flowers and trees grow upwards, towards Her)

The Sun is her soul, removed from her mind

laughing with her, at her, in her, outside of her.

A fickle needle, weaving in and out of the life

He blesses and curses.
(this is why we have night and day)

The Wind is the passing of Time,

who too proud cannot bear to pass by

without pushing and pulling

at the Rain Woman and Earth.
(this is why the land is carved and why there are storms)

Temperature is the presence or absence of an embrace.

(this is why we feel alone when it's cold)

Love is the Creator.

(this is why we worship and deny It)

My artist lover

I want to wake up and find my body, in the light of midmorning, covered in haphazard streaks and smudges of all colors

Salmon, jade, ivory, and pewter, marigold, navy, and camel

I want to open my eyes and see the canvas we destroyed and I want to feel terrible about it

and I want you to hang it up and give it some badass name in some fancy museum.