Out in a cabin in the back
    woods once again
            
               what speaks louder that words
               are my words and the masses just whisper.
                                             Rabbits **** bears,
timber
exoskeletons
crack,                                ­         porcelain
                                                    und­erbrush
                                                    surre­nders,                          those red strings
                                                         ­                                        nudge me
                                                              ­                                   to acknowledge it,
the Shakespeareans are creeping in on purpose,

      i've tried too hard to please this hardwood floor.
                           Excuses:  I am--
                                                     --walking on the body of a
                                                               ­       violin
                                                   ­  --measuring the plucked
                                                       requirements of the craft,
                                                          ­                    a melodic one.
                                                     --forgetting my voice.
I met your envelope
                    of panic
switch--vapor lights
staring down on my skin.
                            Pink elephants
                     bound on crosses strung up in red
                                                  --you stitched their brick hearts.
                               I was welded
                                        to the screen door by the touch
                                                          of a                 one-way street,
epidemic voices are farming the cure for salvation before our cauterizing
                                                     ­                                                 muzzle flashes

                                                        ­                           --the outline of your fleeing justice.
I smell rain and why I fell in love with you,
                                                            ­                       --you never write when you're angry