77/365: I Am Too Soft

I am too soft for this place.
Lines drawn and those who draw them
rarely grow out of love.
Demands for strict party adherence
require a blind austerity of heart.
Rightness is the mother and virtue
that leaves us coarse.
It's madness to speak.
Those who cannot produce that convincing howl
look for an arena.

There are still words and actions
that become creation —
I remember how they used to sing in my ears,
run a current through me
as I lay still to breathe them into my belly —
but they feel so quiet now.
They only drift behind me,
old hymns hummed tunelessly in the shower
when I am half asleep.


I am writing one poem every day in 2016, and I am using the hashtag #365poems to document my progress.