When I was more than ready to abandon the corruption of rage
And the stained pages of the scrapbooks that you left behind in my living room,
The ones that I couldn’t burn for four months
And when I first noticed the advertisements for the pillar, how anticipatory my soul!
Up to where you weren’t
Where he wasn’t
Where nobody was but me
To where I, like the builders of the Tower of Babel, could reach out to Heaven
And scrape the utters of the clouds with my fingernails
From here I fantasized that I could claw away the scraps of air and atmosphere
And pour out my fifteen months of insomnia, profanity, and callous nightmares into the stars
And the vacuum of space would accept my refuse openly, willingly, begging me for more
The visage of God would grant to me perspective of the highest kind
To stare into the past, and render the explosive events my previous century fuse-less
Then to light a new candle of my own to burn with the intent to forgive

When I arrived at the summit, I discovered a rusted, overgrown sign that read
"Beware, you who would attempt to climb this pillar of freedom"
You who would attempt to overcome indecision to replace old with new
For love that lived in the womb, but was stillborn is better than
“What I wasn’t ever sure of with you.”
And purgatory is this high-dive before the new lovers plunge
So shackle them to the ground.