No Other Way
Is there a voice
as sharp as a cut nerve,
or an answer to unravel
this relentless groove?
Is there divinity in stagnation
or purpose to a dead womb?
Can even a great love withstand
evenings of always the same
bleak gestures – a snapped jugular,
a lost future?
Is it burning like an enemy in our closet
or like a miracle denied?
Is it a triggered revolver in the pit
of all our youthful promise or a transmuting faith
that rides this kissless wound?
If we give this back or give it up will it be
the bed to hold us, will it nurse our roots
to flower, or drop us unwanted?
Will there be rescue from this slumbering void
or just the iris of our common eye looking, looking back
at its old and destroyed self?
Copyright © 2002 by Allison…
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