The Rule

Father trellis of my voice (or noose) abruptly vanished — 

2

I wear this razory fishhook

of crucifix.

Look.

How it helps me

keep my head

down,

down with shame,

the glory

and shame

see this frail weightless chain:

there is another

like it.

Sometimes

my neck feels

like it’s

breaking — 

It hangs right here

near the heart’s

hidden room

where a table is set for me

not

a dark bar.

No more

that pointless horror.

Weightless frail

chain

massive iron

seaweed and

barnacle-bearded anchor — 

You may peek from your door toward dawn

and see me attempting to make it

to the end of the hallway

to the restroom

bent double,

gasping

for air in small sips

but I will be there, table set

for three,

the unseen

host, then me

there to meet my own

glorified body

who does resemble me

in a vague way,

but is not particularly radiant

or splendid: he is ugly,

as though he had been crying all his life

that can’t be my soul

people scream

when they first see it