gnaw gawd

the way which can be described
ain't the real way. love is, in itself, a nature.
tathata, thusness, love sets in concrete flurries

of contradiction, helplessness, silly rites
worries gnaw at gut level
like feeding on glass as a sacrament.

whiskeyish essense, roothold, limb sweet thing,
twirl yer talons to the sun

self-identified travels blindly, grasping
beyond the thing in itself,
nuthiness. if gawd gets loved


lawrence ks 1989