September 23, 2010

Daniel Ames

Twisted Salvation

I like the twisted type of salvation
where sin and redemption weave
a thick rope tossed over burning beams
singe morning’s teary-eyed regret

I appreciate the beauty of dogged prayer
with the stench of last night’s smoke
still fresh in my nostrils and the stains
of midnight gorging glowing on my lips

the leap is brief and thrilling
the fall with smashed shoulder blades
and lungs shot forth with heavy breath
stunning as the weight of bedrock

every time I reach for her the awareness
hits me like a hand raised to strike
the eyes like handholds, clinging
and then we’re on our way down


it warms the soul, the opposite of no
causes the sun to burn the cloud
and fill the field with light

when the door opens,
you burst with speed toward it
not noticing the welcome mat

and how worn it is


Daniel Ames lives in Michigan. His work has appeared in Magnolia, Merge, Bijou Poetry Review, Edison Literary Review, Tonopah Review, Iodine Poetry Journal, among others.

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