I’m breaking free
but of these chains,
oh, let this one 

-Red, “Of These Chains”

cracked with thoughts
that pull over under
a streetlamp to tell
blue-and-white lights
that they didn’t
see the sign

heartstrings in
handcuffs, screaming
fog and thunder
that they didn’t mean
to do it–sharpness
materializes from
five seconds of rage,
gives way to ages of

hands refuse
to follow rhythm,
grasping paper,
peeling back
jagged fingernails-
just to grasp something
that is not abstract,
that will only exist
for one moment more

impressions of a flood,
photographs spinning
and gurgling down,
with damp reveries
that pause
to grasp slippery spaghetti
noodles that refuse
to be held.

they say
            that “God helps
those who
               help themselves”

but all the help that I
             can offer is distraction
that only burrows
deeper underground
& would take me with it
if not for Your music that
finds me. 



By day the LORD commands His steadfast love, 
and at night His song is with me, 
a prayer to the God of my life.

-Psalm 42:8








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