All of this caring has been wearing
on my everlasting, wait, always heaving always musing blood.

Season of distance, season of resistance to your pull.
And long hours from embraces, and a damn long bridge
from talks and walks with the other talking walking parts of my soul.

Mumbling whining blood, foolish blood that wants to color
bike trails far from here. Wants to run back to where its thickest, to
deep dirty soil from Alabama.

And wants to run under the East River,
through the L train and the Q, soak right deep in to the belly of
the Empire. Wants to run through the limbs of my loves,
its other highway home.

Wants to be the life and move and pull, wants to be essential,
and begged for. My longing rumbling foolish blood
would never stop pulling us all together. Our hearts could be nothing but
one, because we'd all flowing one to another.

Yeshua's unity, and something about
YHWH's love for me,
and I think it's all muddled again.
This blood's been run through rust and it's carrying
bones from long dead loves. It needs to be alive, carry whispers
of a different ghost, a Living ghost, a Holy one.

The skeletons have been knocked loose, they're going to
clammer through the flow and into another's and then
it's all out in the open. Then I'm there staring at the ugly
decay that was in me. I'll see it and we'll all see it.
Oh, and YHWH, you'll see it, too?

But it'll be out of me, and maybe this blood
will stop being so foolish.
I'm asking for wise blood, I'm begging for clean blood.
I want your blood to be my own.