I Am Orlando

I am nothing, from time to time.
A hollow ship, cracked church with buttresses moaning,
a-lone, empty corpse, washed up on the moor.
I am a single thread of aged grass, burning;
I can not be living; I am an open wound, a bloody
raw meatsack throbbing, a sickly,
ugly sore.

I am not to be believed.
I am a lost skeleton of broken dreams.
it hounds and haunts me;
trust in God when he says, I am not to be let in;
trust in God when he says I am not anything
but bones and dust and accident.
Should you
send me back to him, please,
be kind enough to leave my skin unpenetrated.
I can not bare the thought,
of the women I have laid with be ripped from me.

I have nothing to offer you.
I have no River Jordan in which to absolve you,
no heaven to invoke.
I have no text
in which to enthrall you, that states
I too may sit under the wing of a dove.

But I know how to love.
Above all things,
I know how to love.

I know how to clutch bodies close to mine,
how to cook,
how to walk,
how to hope,
how to kneel;
I know how to hang by cold fingertips
and how to cry.

I am
just a soul, trying hard to do good
and make way through the world.

But I understand,
I understand,
that I am nothing
from time to time.

I understand.
I understand.
I understand.

I’m sorry.
I can not help but already forgive you.

You are something.
You are someone.

Above all,

I am determined to love.
I refuse to die.


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