advent(ually), I’ll love you

I want the wind to be my breath.

I see “rejoice;” I say “reject.”

I truly believe my joy, hope, and love comes from that verb. How do I proclaim that? I don’t know how.

I barely know how to live as Isho-animate through blood-shot eyes, broken windows of shattered feet.

By lyrics, not finality, I sing a punk rock Amen.


Do I dare,

for the love of God,

muster the will

by truth, use voice

in such a divisively-speculated



I alone believe in apricity:

believein now means what you choose to ignore in fact.


You may think, as Aryan-be, as Tennessee, maybe that I am talking on top of the Great White City On the Hill to God, have mercy.


In fact, I am no longer in fear of the depth of the seas, lagoon of mysteries, drowning or absent fears, anxious worries, animosity. The vines of the wet-marsh palms of the Earth, heaven’s gates—the alter-reality already sits among us.


No, I no longer fear what I don’t know—

it is only what I do know:

and that is you.

Published by celinamcmanus

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