broken heads

I knew it when I woke up
this was one of those
sundays -
    'the kind that betray
    'themselves in a moment
    'of panic and heat.
But still I rose
for this burning sunshine.
Eucalyptic in its camphor
rise rise rise
and belong
to all the things
i've never fit in
before
and still not now
either.
    'Its no front page herald
    'nor breaking news prime-time
    'its the same as it ever was
    '(thank you david) just the same.
but we keep finding christ
in the nooks we check once more
in hopes that the next time
we destroy our ceiling fan
by dangling our bodies below
there will be a heaven for us
where we'll finally belong.