I long the long sleep,
I walk the plank of shadows,
I give over
To the
Hum
Of televisions,
Cars, shouts,
Bright music
In town squares,
The drip of trees,
I ask the moving wind,
But he tells me no name
But mine.
I say my name is Nothing.
He replies in kind.
I forget myself
At this point,
Move into another
Wavering line-
This expedient,
This concurrent beast,
This dissolvable nightmare,
This summation of bones,
This heart shaped ******,
This magpie luncheon,
Dark winds of disorder
Whirl elliptical orbits,
They are what you are not.
This that turns in silence,
Giving little,
Asking less,
Yet fills hollow spaces.
Its all the realm,
This atonal search,
For coats on rusted hangers,
Dead Aunts smothered on perfume,
These red horses,
Charging up hills of desolation.
I am a shadow turning away,
I'm an orange rotting in the sun,
I'm a broken wheel in the moonlight,
I'm the jagged glass cutting your finger,
I am a nightmare you cannot wake from,
I am a lapse of memory,
The wreak on the highway,
The footsteps behind you,
The second nail in the coffin,
The symphony of glass and wire,
I can't extract myself from this.
I am barely breathing.
I've lost my shadow to the sun.
All I can do is shut down the switches,
I am not the house you live in.
But I am the color
Dripping through the spaces you cannot name.
I am wanton and I am lust,
A beggars bowl and a soup kitchen,
And violins sound like bees,
And the leaves a choir,
And pride comes before the fall