Text Tiles

This poem began as a ghazal and morphed into this

Life Fabrics

the threadbare crotch
the bruized leather
wrench destiny

I have travelled too far
to write epic
even my homo heroes and their heroes
cannot tapestry fill

Not enough
shredded to rag pulp

I have bolts of cloth not yet turned
to tatters by moth boy eyes

I like spelling "bruise" with a "z" — it captures the hurt. I also like how the poem implies there is a long way to go to reach the necessary nakedness to undertake a great undertaking.

And so for day 439