That Altar was an Outhouse...

                                                                                             You said once,

                                                             “None of us are heroes.”

                                    I think that's where heroes start:

Watching day-after-day of my falling shits

A hundred times outweighing the flesh called “Me”;

Tasting      too      many     repeats    of

“I know this is going to hurt you, love,

But can't help it, just have to see...”

This back-piling self-disgust that

Will finally rob me of rest,

push my accident of a life

To crawl exhausted

Toward the peace of

Simply serving

Some  one

Else's light.

Heroes all seem to know what a violent lie it is

To deny their overwhelming mass

And exalt their brightest part;

Only frauds seem to forget their shit,

                           And believe “I'm a hero”

                                                           In their heart.