The Fucking Vineyard

all my faults come bubbling up
(into the daylight)
from wherever they hide, down below
shadowed and true
all my secret things, my mean and special agonies
rise up (with him) like vicious pixies
in a swamp-brewed stew
mossy fecund wraiths
armed like ancestors, defending their land
their legacy of bones and angry answers
growling hissing whispers learned
from birth ‘til this,
adept at survival, at eluding the sun
they lurk near trees
on the edges my forest,
blending into the bark, camouflaged
seeking cool and darkness, surviving
even the best of times
by feeding on the knowledge
that what they say is true--
unworthy, they speak from deep
in the inevitable darkness,
which is the consequence of light,
scowling, cowering, eyes averted from the sky
they are shy until you know them,
a gang of bony loners, each on its own
maybe nothing nearly
but now, formidable in numbers,
sensing the end is near
they burst toward the surface
as they feel the temperature rise
unrestrained
they show themselves in voice and body
tricksters, liars, villains all
a pelting rain storm of ugly...
and yet, he stays.
undeterred,
smiling into the maelstrom
blessing snake bites and mopping up my blood
he loves me
empty-handed, desperate fools
he loves me.


[May 29, 2004, at the (fucking) Vineyard.]