killing the sting is like killing me.
but the true love of a long gone is a near miss
weeping... and a truant mystery.
how late are the bells ? for whom do you ring ?
are you asking for God to forgive you
or telling yourself absolutely nothing ?

your skin is the wrong place to have your soul in.
it doesn't matter if you breathe -
it only matters that you leave room for a casket.

have a question ?
then ask it; but never choose a god
that has answers.

they have antlers.
you won't like
it.

it is common to be undone and so we whittle reeds
to form totems. we join hip bones to wrists
and resist the fathoms of our reach.
but love has done a trick
that can't be named, and the swirl of our constant yearning
has no peace.

there's only one one way to remember to forget
and that way is less
than free.

be the one that has a joy
that love cannot
reach*.