>is that climbing a rock
will eventually put you at odds
with gravity, hand crushed inside
an infinitely loving mother’s, you
reach a blood-shaped moment
where grinning fatality sticks and bops
the dry, prickly seed cowardice
rams down your throat, and without
justification but cold stretch toward
the nobler path. the attacking face.
is to command advice
and shove it up your lover’s ass.