Thoughts about you,
songs about you,
These people about you,
no worries in this world
when they're about you,
nither do I,
I try,
I try not to try to try,
but you've settled down,
gotten comfortable
as if at home,
alone, dinner for one,
all up in my skeleton,
But did I made you up?
No -
you took me down
to the underlying
side of a
melting iceberg,
where the penguins sit upon it
as the sun beats away
like a burning want,
strange animalist desire -
There's no magnetic field on Mars,
There
I wouldn't be pulled
one way or the other way,
There we would
just drift, like
melting icebergs
along red sand,
along mountains
the height of Everest,
almost as high
As I hold
you in my mind,
My closed first,
An open mouth,
could wait,
but it's
adolescent
fantastic fanatic fantasy,
maybe once,
not now,
not later,
but after later
at least,
at last -
45 minute blissful stints
better
the days
after days
after days
of the dull,
and nights
underneath
nights
inside
nights
Of null.