It is the cruelest thing in the world

“Spirit Orb” Syd Weedon, 1984-2020

When you run pedal to the metal
for a thousand years, overheating,
a day comes when you hit the wall.
The Mother Goddess offered me
a pitcher of ice cold water,
and I took it, and I drank it
with whiskey and rock music.

She reminds me of our children
and I say I don’t remember
not really believing  a word I’m saying.
She says, “They have your eyes.”
“Yeah, I forgot about that.”
“You are so careless,” she says.
 The night cuts like broken glass.

It is the cruelest thing in the world.
It is the most blessed thing in the world.
We make this passage blindly
and we kiss and fuck each other,
and betray and disappoint each other,
and rescue and redeem each other –
it is all one sloppy, wonderful mess.


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