My life has fallen down
around me before
-lots of times,
for lots of reasons-
usually other people.

And most of the time
I was fortunate enough
to have a large lump of
that life hit me on the
head and render me numb
to the pain & desolation
that followed.
And I survived.
And I live to love again.

But this,
this slow erosion from below
-or within-
it's me falling down around my life
because you're still in that life
-but not really.
And you're out of that life
-but not quite.

I do all right
alone,
and better
together,
but
I do very poorly
when
semi-
together.

In solitude
I do much,
in love
I do more,
but
in doubt
I only transfer
pain to paper
in gigantic Passion Plays
complete with miracles and martyrs
and crucifixions and resurrections.
This series of passion poems
is becoming a heavy cross to bare.