her heart bursts open as it beats,
for one last act of pointless percussion,
she cries,      "you are part of my perfect prison."
this tender poison;
an anesthetic apathy,
I am here, don't you see me?
*******, I'm alive!

I am.
growing.

empty space
doesn't really mater
unless there is nothing
where something used to be

It seems we often find ourselves,
entering
into animated conversation
at inconvenient hours.

And this is best.

That
which compels things to happen.
which lets all of their motives and passions slip through.

There are subtle diamonds
woven into the patch-work mystery of the nighttime,
the stitches of which,
we unravel
and
let
drip
into our open mouths
in eager anticipation,            
of sedated


excitation.

I am Dogma.
I am Poison.

I am "Please, Someone, tell me what to do!"

I am Newly Turned Earth.

give me this and no other,
slender golden instants of splendid earth's living,

i shall return,
not to take the mystery out of loving,
nor the mastery of perfection,

but to bask in their
Unsubdued.

you're my solid sunshine,
you're my only pair of shoes,
you're my science-fair volcano,
my big, fold-out topographical map of the moon.

a quiet kind of clean soon followed
away in the crematorium
kings and cool lovers danced slowly
a quiet kind of clean came suddenly
we followed it closely
but it got away