Two by Chris Crittenden
 
Enlightenment 

nothing but flimsy
pretense holds big doubts
over a complicated pit.

when the tissue snaps
you hate yourself
like a red ocean chewing
on a drop of water.

screams open
down a long snip of revelation:
you’re been looking out
of cellophane eyes.

you sold the you
who could have been
to rules stomping
inside your nature.

the people and toys
you counted as trophies
rise like nails, up and out
of a coffin’s clench.

your reward for escape
is weakness, the companionship
of heartache, and a hundred angels
on a leaf.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Suffering

the wolf is under the bed.
or at work.
or in a box of cheerios.


you’ve been killed by it before.
every place you hide
you’ve been found before.


there wasn’t really a time
without this.
that past is fake.


the hunt expands
to encompass everything,
circles the cosmos.


you stare into oceans
of dark matter
unbelievable--


like running inside a stone,
faster than
the flee of light,


as you sink.