When I get home from Sunday Service, I strip my pressed white shirt in the living room. I step out of my slacks. Peel off the tight black socks. I fumble naked for my dive skin, the black and blue ... [+]
gives no thought to "did" or "should,"
but, ever tense and present, will
plunge forward to her future kill.
We humans run a different race,
and won't let go of our past case;
never far from who we'd been,
like snakes still trapped in prior skin.