Everyone has their own peculiar price, not quantifiable in currency. When my hypodermic grazed your vein, you confessed yours. It was not exorbitant so I withheld the serum a moment longer before pushing the plunger.
You saw rattlesnakes mate in the arroyo tangled like hoses, braided like black ropes for a day, utterly vulnerable in the grip of love or instinct.
Indians say this sight grants second sight.
You saw your victimhood cupped like a cross of iron in the hollow above your sternum, cold, rusted from fear, dangling from a chain of misinterpreted coincidence.
Self-knowledge is a dangerous thing and can't be granted by a single vision.
Spoke a prophet with his head on a platter:
"To stand for something, to protest abortion or the destruction of wetlands, to remember the Holocaust or the Alamo, to disagree with farm subsidies or campaign against clear-cutting helps focus minds dulled by tolerance, not a virtue but a courtesy-- like ignoring someone's body odor in an elevator-- which makes it perfectly moral to say,
'I understand and accept what you are doing though I find it utterly abhorrent.'
Blessed are those who have found their cause: gun ownership, preservation of historic buildings, the fight against leukemia or for hemp: whatever we are righteously incensed about restores our passion for goodness, however misguided."
Beneath the empty platter the world moves like ancient women gathering fuel in vacant lots.
The gut-ache of youth, super-caffeinated though socially melancholy, is beyond the generation previous, confirmed by body-piercing, black leather and ghostly skin as if in preparation, not for a prom but for a funeral.
You must have cancer of the throat to sing for them. Pain sustains them.
Blessed are the pure, if only driven by glands.
Seeking the river's calm you stretched before the television, dreaming of a Winnebago and Palm Springs, when suddenly you heard:
My sheep hear my voice and my voice is on TV.
Was the sound inside or outside your head?
No televangelist with cockatoo hair came to explain, so you wept like a sinner, fearing you were the Christ, everyone was their own Christ, and this was too much for you so I injected the antidote out of pity for all the lies you need to make life tolerable.