I, Nothingness

The church is lined with stained glass windows,

coins drip from the feet of the crucifix and I stare through

from the outside at the empty pews in the mid-winter heat.

A person walks my way and buries my soul in the ground,

beats my conscience and slips a fork between my eyes

from the time I probably said I wanted to die.

The street is calm and crisp with the exhaust fumes

polluting my lungs and the friend I met holds me accountable

for nothing at all and at the same time blames me for it.

I hang my head as another person berates me, chants my

name into a dark street and claims they saw my ghost

across the river and round the bend of the cave.

They put my head in their pocket and carry it around

like a music box and sell it for the coins at the feet of

the crucifix but get nothing more than a few pennies.

They chop off my arms and toss them in the river,

where the cave meets the high mountain creek and the people

there are silent and don’t even breathe.

They take my legs and hollow them out for a sleigh,

without snow the sleigh is no use and perhaps my legs

are more useful now than they were back when.

They crush my eyes, steal my air and lay me down in the

cold floors of the church grounds, picking me up just to

spit on my being. I throw up my tongue and offer my life.

I lay on the floor, alone.

Passed out and stolen.

Forced away and to this day

I still owe more than a soul,

I still own nothing of my person.