The Agency

Trigger Warning: Abuse

Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental. 


Are you now a child in your hands?

Do you throw things?

Do you scream at yourself

inside the soundproof walls of the skull where you live?

(they say that people in skull houses shouldn’t throw stones)

Have you ever shaken yourself

when you couldn’t stop yourself from crying?

(you didn’t know how to stop crying, did you?)

Have you ever abandoned yourself for days at a time?

Left nothing but garbage in the cupboards-

When you knew that was the only food you’d be able to find?

Have even you seen yourself as a boat

to carry other people’s dreams?

Your body a cushion for the whims of other bodies?

Have you ever told yourself to  shut the hell up

when you were weeping

begging for at least one person to believe you?


Someone left an anonymous tip-

(the voice on the line- could it have been yours?)

We just need you to ask a few questions,

And we’d like you to take a look around the place.




Who told you you were naked?


No one told you.

In a single strange moment,

the colored moving world welled up

into the colored moving world

And was.


trees and clouds

stones and water

creatures flashing

the chatter and songs

and behemoth curiously lifts his head

and you are

and you’re here

and it’s now.

Your eyes turn to the other eyes

and they’re shining too.

It’s both of you, now, here, together,

trembling with this greatness.

In the heat of the day, a little wind runs through.

Only the leaves shiver

and the two of you.

Your eyes meet and

you both laugh again.

It’s so much- all at once.


Who told you?

The voice is colder.

The words you would have to invent to say

sink back down your throat

falling back into the heart they almost came from.

The leaves you wove tear and fall and

you have to stand there-

this is naked-

both of you naked

and him waiting.

From deep in the darkening sky

a little wind runs around you all.

It’s cold- so cold.

To be this way.


the fall

Do you delight in our weakness, Father?

Does it make you perfect?

Is it what draws your attention

Down, out of the vast and infinite

sorrow where your heart lives-

clouded like a newborn star?

Does it assuage you, for a moment,

to trip us with nothing and trigger

shocked eyes

muddy knees and hands?


Hiding in the trees.

Where are you?

calls out One who already knows everything.

Your breath slows, chokes in your throat.

He’s smirking?

Where are you?

He’s enjoying the game.

Enjoying the heartbeat He must know

is knocking against your ribs-

as your terror convulses into purity-

as He comes near.

But then He veers off.

Perfect fear can cast out everything

whether its piss or hope  that holds you back.  And

your newly clean mind understands.

He’ll keep coming closer


At last He’ll let himself find you and stare down, gloating,

as you crescendo

and then He’ll begin.


As if the sky were made of giants


through the deep blue sea-


Your limbs move-

soft as ropes of clay-

and you stumble out ot the brambles .


The game is over

and He hasn’t won.




The House of Water

The Father had died.

The Mother was waxing.

The moon had come

at night

and glowered.

The bones moved over the ocean,

the wake rising ’round them,

the wake moving over the waters,

following the Father’s house.


The Father had died.

The Mother was moving,

gathering strength,

gathering voices

gathering against her children,

the gods.


The Tide


The tide of time

doesn’t answer

except for all the shells.



The water rises in its own language.

It takes the words out of your mouth.

It will take the bones out of your body’s closet

and scatter them among the pebbles.



The spent ocean dries off

the land’s edges.

The spent earth fills the ocean’s jars.

The ocean will still be your tired king

when all the mothering waters have gone.



You, like a gull, rise.

You, like a stone, dive.

You, like the sun, descend

Again and again and again.



The sea in your head

is speaking

The sea in your bones

is looking across the ocean.

The language waits-

the language of water.




Water. Rising.

What we were not told

we have heard.

When the walls dream

and the reeds speak in silence

of water. Rising.


The wise man wept at it

and the daemon-heroes

came and stood

on the bank of the river

up from the sea.

The wise man learned it in a dream.


So he will sprinkle many nations.