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.