So Ezekiel cooked his food over human shit & I think
about Michelin chefs, how the really good ones
are peculiar–no, traumatized & they pass their trauma
on to their kitchens, like my father did to me; God
of the paddle, & the switch, & the silence. I want to lay
on my side 430 days to mourn my youth, left alone
in a cave & fed by ravens. How fucked up do you
have to be to curse children who make fun of your male
pattern baldness? What kind of shit god sends bears?
I have spent my whole life running from the lord of hosts
like Jonah or whatever & yet a whale wasn’t sent for me.
I lusted to fight Jacob’s angel for a new name, a new life,
& still my hip is intact. Oh God of Isaac, no child asks
for fathers that break vast & tiny hearts—yet You break.
One of my favorite poets right now is Alex Dimitrov. One of my favorite poems of his is The Years, which reminds me of a poem I wrote in college, only better. One of the best things that changed my life was reading and writing poetry and if you can't write poetry, then find some poets you like and buy their books and read their words and grow your soul a little. Change your mind.