Mole Tunnels

There is a place more near the center of the earth

where the tunnels of Ohio and Michigan moles meet,

a crossing black and sunken as his shadowed eyes

under jutted bone. My thoughts drift here

when I take humans in focus

Every snapshot of suffering

kneeling before you who I long to possess

To muggy air and petrified legs

Just one of the synchronized specks in 

disconnection  a salt and pepper channel

—really of the god

There is no such thing as truth

Point of view is not oriented to decorate a central event

Tt can’t orbit if theres no center—impossible in flux

How could there be without cancelling people out?

Objectivity won’t do. Oh Saint, I wish

you’d just tell us to give up on coaxing out truth.

(Oh truth, I almost prayed

to something that was never there;

I almost prayed to you.)

So the closest I can get is through my lover.

I hug more people and cut my fingernails.

I stock up on body heat and proximity

Archive human laughter

I braid words to bridge the gap and I throw the rope to you

Our bodies turning to ash just to come back

hardened a bit of each other

better; still two

My words crumble just before reaching

So then I’m just throwing piles of writing in careless handfuls

As nutrient dense and banal as dirt

Coughing from the dusty air

What can I get from you that I couldn’t get myself?

Could I not get it if I had done the things you’ve done,

is imagination nothing but a placeholder

bloated from all our insufficiencies?

No axiom is enough, we’ve heard it all,

we/everybody/god

Between my ears there is a mole digging tunnels.

When she finally reaches another, does she join or leave?

Eternity stands indeciding at the cross