after almost exactly 30 years
I return to the original cone of silence
Scooped not by time and chance but the
Actual-true-hand of God
near the plain of Megiddo
where bad, terrible, awful things have, did, and will
Happen.
You have a tell, my dear
In all your smack talk about leprechauns and canine destinations for women
At 2:30 in the morning
the aircraft flies too loud, too close
to my insomnia
I remember your anger is your origami armor
against the wounded you-us-story
sewn into the cloak
of every disguise you put on
in vain.
Carrying Light 