Iatrogenic Effects

I’m usually remiss in my responsibilities to God

I take and don’t ask, spend what I don’t have

I pine for what isn’t mine, love what can’t be fixed

I seek what is meant to be left, caress what should be flogged,

I pick the empty meat from the disappearing bones

and leave the carcass under some lame

gnarled sun that

nourishes and taunts

sustains and burns

desiccates and quenches

everyone, even those

who no longer

worship

it.

 

I have debts but no gold

riches but no perception

only cracks and moonlight

and the light of a million fading

murdered stars

cascading from the broken ceilings

below everything I never got

to hold, cherish, love

or ignore.

 

I have only the mirror image of my aspirations

ripped apart

minute by minute

inch by angry inch.

I have theories

and only half a lifetime

and an unmarried

corpse to prove

that they

are real.

 

I have many opportunities

but no way to prove myself

trampled smiles, lost hugs

once caressed arms

now bloody and lost,

tattooed and reaching

scarred and shaking

waving and gesticulating

yearning for more applause

for some recognition–

reaching through the cracks

through the jagged edges

and secret places

for more blood,

for more clues

for more people

to blame.

4/27/03 East LA California. M. Barraza

(original work previously published circa 2011 in the Chiron Review.)