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Lately
It's the weakness I exude
that helps expose the wound
for stitching.
It's a husband's instinct
to accept fatigue, fear,
and scratch the itching
to call on his wife.
Because...
Sometimes I'm well paralyzed.
An emotional fetus of a man
requesting a womb's safety.
Sometimes I'm entombed
in terror and tears,
error and fears
begging for a graverobber.
Lately...
I've been in need of a hand
to hold me
half out of the quicksand.
Lately...
My tear-blurred vision
has clamored
for clear direction
across the land.
And with one final ounce of being,
I'm tossing you a shoe string.
Grab hold,
so I know where I'm running.
