Feet first


In a toilet

Full of quicksand


Reality Checks P.S.

Reality checks are soul food 

Sometimes going down my throat with divine flavor to nourish the light and dark of my cells.

Sometimes going down sideways, dragging its impatient asshole way through until it passes into the space of something safe, whether false or true

Sometimes snaring the base of my throat with the stinger of a beast king

    incinerating my mind, 

      melting the core of my voice into bits that gravel their burning path through my heart and lungs

     to then

rip my guts 

And dump my dried remains at the seat of my woman.

I am not dead. Not hardly.

Immerse me in water please

Pour clear liquid beauty into my open mouth, whether by my own trusted hand or another.

I will close my eyes and know that she will lift me to what is next as she always does. 

Or drown me when the time is right.