San Sebastian, Spain
P.M.

I begin with nothing to write
Except the need to do so
Not far from the noise of today’s cavern
In my measured quiet time
The holiday casts a slow paced march
Over the haze and the people
My homeland fits like a soiled glove
Around my aching mass

Primal urges to eat, fuck and control
Are tempered by the swelling spirit;
acceptance of time and circumstance;
of boundaries and other’s values;
of my own sorted lot;

Settling for a warm bath
In brown Spanish irises
Shared scars physical and emotional
The damage seals the deal
And yet when I try to make it hard
I must rely on the memories of personal treason

The relative importance of progress
Makes it easier to be a gentle man
In this sea of death and self hatred
That I did not pack myself

I consider words I’ve already written
To fill my next thought
And let it go

I am strong by Thy side
I am loving when I keep Thou in sight
I am going to survive
With plenty to spare
If  I keep my eyes on Thy hand..