‘i’ll take you to the
and now, with lines
of skeined heat and
eyes pass in rhymed
patterns, and words
can be seen like
small whispers. maybe,
we become and become,
gears slowing to a late
frosted sun, and a choir
of summer dry-bleeding
and an early moon, under the light of which
i fall as well to shivering petals. which
again in the late sun the notes
of steps weeping from heartbreak
squeeze through our windowpane.
more of everyone becoming everything
more of life bellowing
of life refusing
to be anything but what it is.
i immigrated to a place where no one recognizes my love.
the world is filled with beautiful men and the base monochrome tile that listens to a baby crying over how long it has been.
i’ve watched you sigh at this like another vhs repeat of life in blurred polychromatic fuzz. computers were simple while we lived in explosions of fabric and
— — —
in waiting for love i wait for the 10:30 arrival at a terminal where no one knows each other’s name. we search and wait for so much to be unwrapped but what can we do without so much mystery?
i have been waiting and watching my breath like it is the last thing i will be able to grasp, grasping it like i did between nights under stars and moments of bliss.
live in a red house out on the grey in the baltic, where the surf fills chambers with emptiness and fastness and nothingness but what it simply is.