We don’t have much time, so listen. I’ve tried
for years to crawl into hell, shoving souls
who’re in my way. Probably should have died
at least five times. Fought reason to control
fate—maniacal drunk battling bouncers
at closing time. It’s not some unholy
trinity who strips you of grace, pounds your
face into concrete, rolls your limp body
down jagged crevices of despair, cures
your rebellion with steel-toed kicks in groin
and gut. It’s those confused, loving eyes, pure
and simple, gazing down at you like coins
melting in flame, silent deafening pleas
begging you to let go, set the beast free.
Roger Armbrust
June 10, 2009
