For You Your Own Monstrosity

We’re our own monsters. When we write,
We dismember what’s remembered

As we write. And what about you?
What monster chases you tonight?

On the one hand, the colomber,
On the other, the albatross—

Which beast has been pursuing you?
What moral could this mouth possess?

One synonymous with ruin,
One synonymous with mistake—

One that followed at a distance
While you were driven to success,

One that rotted against your chest
While you hallucinated death—

What is it these phrases suggest?
Regret creates a sea king’s pearl

Out of the tiniest pebble
Your bones won’t let loose from their clutch,

And remorse requires confessing
You can never confess enough.

You’re the one who knows your monster, not us.
Words are our own beasts. We slip back to sea

By ourselves when you’re done.
Then up floats the next one.