I am simple
an idiot

like Dostoyevsky
described

straightforward
you cannot

understand me
I am outside

your scope
and scale

I do not want
from you or

to be you

I do not absorb
your threats

or insults
I am immune

to your world
I know

you want me
you know

I can’t be

Snowdrop

Now is the globe shrunk tight
Round the mouse’s dulled wintering heart.
Weasel and crow, as if moulded in brass,
Move through an outer darkness
Not in their right minds,
With the other deaths. She, too, pursues her ends,
Brutal as the stars of this month,
Her pale head heavy as metal.

Ted Hughes—

I understand the space in the brass
Airless no contempt, or ability to hold it
Tightly, round spring coiled around nothing
The Yo yo ing purpose of mice, mouse
Pursuits of the steel wool cut, itchy
Red abrasions cover heaving chest, loose
In the leg, furthering no where special
Connecting the four corners of the Earth
Ill conceived screams, curling under sharp toothy, to punch holes in the can
Scurry the string through, running the telephone line
Hello’s dreams, fears
Echos of clay and thud
The moisture in the ground is mud

The moisture in the ground is mud

The pooling reflects no light
And gathers the snow drops
With the remorse of it
She will surely die there
If only a smiling face to make an impression

My perception fades
And in the darkness
A sound  
Like the cry of the withering  
  
With careful place of soul to heap  
I carry my heart    
To what I fear may break it  
    
I envision....  
come hallowed grounds    
And the bodies that lie there  
in mass and lump  
fresh from hangman's noose  
    
Their penalty's might have been mine  
if I had had the nerve to reach them  
    
in my haze  
And a mighty aspiration called indifference    
My gaze had I diverted skillfully  
With enough success that i did not even recognise their cause  
    
I pray with soulless conjuring    
For their redemption    
And for my own  
Unwilling to own this duality  
    
For self and pardoning  
And only just..  ..  
    
I stitch a blindfold  
Of crushed red velvet    
And monogrammed on it a J  
In the prettiest blue  
    
The color of the sky    
Nowhere to be seen  
in all this midnight and black  
    
But I have loved this track  
it has covered me discreetly    
Like a clandestine lover    
I have run to meet it  
    
now this cry through the fog  
My awareness shocked to submission  
    
And my own body I have not touched  
in such a long...  
long time  
tremors....  
My knuckles streaked    
In reds through white and terrors grip  
    
My God relieve me  
And my soul what have I done?    
The cry...  
It is an echo  
It is my own and I feel it so deeply  
    
Like the scarecrow  
And the post he sits  
I feel I might slide right off of myself

To beat back the bear    
One must wear the fortress  
Of outward iron maiden  
    
A sneer and tortured intent    
Spiking steely eyes    
through triangulate of iris    
Sticking through it    
welling the blue    
And the belladonna    
Blooming through rage    
like primal    
feral crushing    
It glows and brightens the circle    
as if the whole sky were there    
    
En masse    
at large    
The posse en route    
Vigilante purpose violating all compact    
Builds the refugee    
And it's hovering camp    
    
it growls    
And grows    
too large and uncompromising    
Oh what nastiness,    
she shows sharp teeth    
    
To clamp and clang    
Down on it    
with the fury and force    
Of the whole    
Of the clan and brutal squeeze    
    
It might crimp the fortress    
And its shiny style    
Like the knights    
In a state of madness    
And their oddly worn smirks    
Would leave them alone    
    
Would they be fingerless  
And folly their way back home  
unable to remove themselves  
From the cloak  
And its vice  
now sweltering unimportant  
Enclosure  
  
And leave them exposed by harsh  
Sound and sight  
And the eyes of others  
Never having trampled  
Into their wilderness  
  
such spectacle  
Would be ghastly  
And devoutly remembered  
attached in the permanent mind  
And fearsome gesture there  
  
gesture would fly  
he would be unable to catch it  
But he would reach

Enter this cloud
Of nostalgia that tufts and rises  
Dark and billowy
Promising summer storms  
Of slanted rains  
Strong enough for redemption  
  
(They will be broken promises, it will blow much stronger than that)  
  
And any effect it might have on you  
This cloud  
With it's seriously thick ways  
Manifested *******  
To stick in skies  
That mean to be blue  
  
They just may cling  
And swamp you  
Dampen your skin  
Slick you with perspiration  
Like the afterglow of red hot lovers  
  
I swear by the residuals  
Of that atmosphere  
Where I store my most sensual  
And intimate memories  
They will cling tightly  
  
(And somewhat perversely on my part I might add)  
  
So high the humidity  
It's density in comparison to say. .  
Florida  
During hurricane season  
Similar...  
And as equally volitale  
  
I have imagined in the center of it  
The eye of the storm  
So to speak...  
A still life  
Of my cataclysmic genesis  
  
And have warped around it  
With twist and dark funneling  
Swirling justification  
Around all events following  
Eden and the walk out of it  
A naked shame  
  
Because it has been an eternity  
From here to that calm  
My feet are blistered with remorse  
I should be grateful  
For all the precipitation  
In this desert  
  
I should hold up my cup  
And let it be half filled  
when I am this thirsty  
  
(And then be able to offer a sip to you)  
  
But for now  
I can only offer entrance  
And this warning  
Alerting you to what you might weather  
And wear  
The heat and sweat  
The smell of bodies grinding unholy position  
  
.....the after effects of red hot lovers