snakes into my life like the

long fangs of a religious discourse that slowly poisons whole continents, whole histories.



taps at my shoulder like the rain on someone else’s tin roof.   There is nothing to fear but fear itself and I fear itself until fear is myself.


I’m an accidental cannibal, and yes, I taste like chicken.  I taste like giving in and giving up, like the lump at the back of an exposed throat with a knife poised to fall.


            Will it fall?

It is falling now.

            Will it land?

It has already landed.


But none of that provides certainty.

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I like the imagery here Faith...great poem. It's honest, economical and somewhat liberating. Want to read more :-)

Thanks for sharing. Have a good day


thanks Tom.  Looking forward to reading more of your work.  Faith


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