Assumption

The trick to salvation is timing. Patience.

If I tell you semi-permeable, wait for me to signal, then delve into the drove. Dig into the sagacious herd, where twenty-somethings discuss the difference between ethics and moral code. If penetration is what you desire, give me your Jesus side-wound. Give me your holier-than-thou speech, about the time my mouth was a burning bush, about the time the hole in my brain housed a warning sign: Please refrain from interpretation.

My heart is a coal mine and you're the nurse turned priest, turned servant, turned pious surgeon. We're all waiting for the cracks in our bodies to turn rogue, remind us how divinity feels. You can't judge a prison by its landscape, and barbed wire is the most inviting division we've made so far. I pray for Van Gogh's silent ear—the one that asked for nothing but peace. My intentions are far from harmless.