Look, I didn’t come here for a theological argument
I’m not sure I can have those anymore

I am not convinced enough to defend truths
Or so convinced I do not see how they need defending

I have no more interest in watching straw men punch straw men
I’ve lost my taste for blood

Arguments always strangle my heart anyways
the love chokes out and that holy muscle hardens

This still happens from time to time
And when it does I turn away from mirrors

Words as calculated as cold chess
cannot be moved once they are released

Words let out reckless cannot be pulled back
There is no way to unspeak


I don’t want to know
how many angels can fit on the head of a pin
because whether it is 87 or 8 000 003, 
my mom still needs shock treatments every month


Last night I held an opinion so tightly
that once I let it go, the room smelled like death

To be honest, all of the fighting–all of it–
looks ridiculous, like Jets vs Sharks

At some point the choreographed pretty boys on that studio lot
must have noticed that they were not really fighting

They were dancing in sync with their enemies
Playing out a predictable script of parry and thrust

Pundits at podiums and Reverends revving up
For one more devastating round

Show me a battle that can heal
and I will fight you to the death

How strange that we remember how to argue
long after we have forgotten why

Photo by Martin Kníže at Unsplash

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