Inside every man sits a shaman in a loin cloth
every once in awhile
we become aware of his presence
when he dips his spear at the throat of someone who asks you
how do you stand the silence?
how do you cope with the diagnosis?
how do you take your mind off the pain?
he flicks the latch
on the hope in your chest
he drops his spear
climbs in behind you
pulls the lid
grabs your face
presses your foreheads together
as his breath carves a hole in the heart of darkness
unearthed is God’s secret with you:
go where the food is
it looks different for everyone