Anew an Old

I bare the yoke of a scanted heart and I can see it in my mirror.

In love with crashed cars, burning piles of literature, crippled animals, and the under appreciated human beings.

With the sat upon.

With the spat upon.

In love with the hopelessly smitten.

With the haggard and also the abandoned.

With the used up, torn up, and left behind.

With the tarred and feathered.

In love with their rescuer.

I know the smell of old pages of books.

I savor every property of flavor in my mouth.

Shelve the apple too beautiful to eat.

Embarrassed that I eat it anyway.

I sense the departure of every wonder.

I know their greatness.

My dime is in a well somewhere.

I die for damaged vines which prove pure love.

I remain for those who abused them.

I fight between the depths of cause and action.

Appalled by pride.

By polygamy.

By ignorance.

By abuse.

Appalled by self.

Dwell in the beauty of others.

Live in the battered home of what has been.

Lodge in the breast of sins.

Sleep in the stare of the awkward smile.

Find rest in the unwanted broken households.

Anew an old.

Love an unloving.

Cherish charity.

Write what must be written.

Believe in something misunderstood. 

I am clothed in the fibers of empty promises.

Washed anew in the deluge of humility.

My grace is in my thrashing to the floor.

I bare the yoke of my future.

In love with the broken hearted.