Walk

It's hard taking two steps forwards,
and one step back,
seeing progress,
and knowing you will relapse.

These tracks never disappear.

These tracks,
leading from my hands
to the work of my mind,
whose subconscious desires
won't afford me a free pass
past- the tollgates.

The drawbridges have erased their spans.
The escape routes have been saturated with traffic.

I've kissed death so many times
that I have started growing daisies with chapstick-
waiting until both push up on each other.

I fear nothing but God,
but that's one hell of a haunting.
I often find myself at odds
with bypassing retribution,
even when even.

Jesus, I cannot stop cursing.
This garden is no Eden;
it is a pet cemetery
full of my dogs
and limp leashes.

Ye though I walk,
I still feel lost
along the way.

I found myself in the dark
and sparked my imagination.
Now I am bringing back the inferno
as a baptismal Gileadean balm.