this place–is where i clutch my sanity;
from airstrikes littering the litanies of my existence.
this home–is an antecedent of many things;

of women whose knee is a threshold of dust.
of boys who psalm in water declaring dust a
conception of worries. of men, who float like ether, numbed with
opium. of hymns fading into quietude. of dreams
palette-ing into fantasies.
of bodies chewed up by past and time. of memories tromboned in a
confluence of breaths. of music, stretched and lit over this dark home.
of bethel morphing into brothel. of water–over me,
in the language of silence.
of falsettos drowning me into music again.
of your voice, walking me down a hill. of your
allegory writing me into a fold of stillness

[Editor’s Note: Publication of this poem was made possible by a gift from Kimberly M. Lowe during our annual Kickstarter.]