standing in the
yellow light of december
trying to believe in war

casting a shadow along the edge
of whiskey hill road

i am not a ghost yet but have
been playing with
the idea of disappearing

have been considering that
what i may actually be afraid of
is happiness

that what i may actually be
in love with is fear

i spent twenty-seven years fighting
not to be my father’s son
then married a woman who wanted
only those things i was
unwilling to give

found myself in a falling house
with the need to
inflict my anger upon others

and it’s not that
i’m opposed to vengeance
and it’s not that i don’t believe
in freedom

it’s that i have walked through
the screaming crowds promoting
their own self-righteous hatred
outside of abortion clinics
and i have no faith in their god

i have no use for their dogma

i will not be branded a witch
by anyone as lost
as myself

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