Anxiety

snakes into my life like the

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

 

Impatience

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

Tom

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

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