Monday, June 1, 2015

Fred LaMotte - Confession

I have a confession to make.
I am always drunk.

Especially when I have just consumed
a nightfull of waking stillness.

The milky way makes me drunk,
lightning bugs make me drunk

and at dawn, telltale honeysuckle
at the ragged edges of my meadow.

Tears make me drunk.

Even a sip of your face, the gentlest
kiss of it, and I can't remember
my name.

I go reeling down the street,

Nuns and social workers try
to help me back to normal.

They discover me gazing into my heart
and slapping my own cheeks.

They explain to passers-by,
'He is not himself today."

But that's just the problem: I Am.

The sun and moon have given me up
for adoption.

Their gravity cannot contain me.
Is it my fault I was born

with a fathomless cup
at the center of my chest

where You won't stop pouring into Me
with every breath?

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