there is no blood in surrender. i remind

myself of this, clutching my own hands

around my own throat. in praise of the

miracles, the signs and wonders we stretch

our bodies to work. i would like that

to be all it is, but they’re always saying some shit. like one time

this older boy formed the cross with his tongue &

spat the word faggot at my buddy josh &

i & i, like always, was a coward but josh was only like 5’6

but righteous as all hell & so he went up &

wrapped his righteous hand around that boys quivering throat &

slammed him back against a wall &

he said “I don’t wanna hear another goddamn word out of your mouth for as long as I live”

& by god I never heard his voice again.

and certainly nobody ever told Reggie Miller he choked again.

And so what I am saying is there is still grace in fighting back,

spitting & snarling til the clock runs out.

I’m saying there has to be lines around our mercy. I will bend this far & no further.

What’s funny is how all those people in New York turned their backs &

made for the exits, so assured of their victory they missed entirely

that brief explosion of impossible violence. So I guess I’m not really sure if

anybody went home that night having learned something about

forgiveness, but at the very least they learned what words not to say anymore.