you’re too late i’ve no idea how high is too high for heat that slickens my
poison come to me floating your scarf falls away i see your throat like an angel
paused in the work of daring me to travel thighs of i am here i am flesh
i am that which waves in tidal pools trying to attract you do i have your
attention not yet i am the raft in the wine-stream running down to be
cleansed what better way to die perhaps trapped in legend the breeze
i dream of pines & ripples but you put me under again how is it possible
so far from shore softly do you hear me twist & swirl as you write stories
about wolves & hunger you seem to think them new but no tale can be
invented that hasn’t already been told by the sea it’s like how we’re all afraid of
not finding the words but the more we say the harder it gets because
language is like heroin you think you’re using it but it’s really the other way &
you realize too late but by then you don’t care you’re spellbound & isn’t
it wonderful tapping on the glass of what could have been all the great loves
blow away with each word at least you have the one about the little girl & the
boy & the girl & the boy & on it goes but it doesn’t matter now all this
freezing for future who will listen when the star by whose light you splash page
after page with ink will explode but that’s not true it will fizzle & wink out like a
torch held by the hunter seeking that which guards his soul but he’s too deep
in the maze & all that’s left is flickering & a string of futures he’ll never see if
only he hadn’t listened to the bards & their drunken lies though not ill
intentioned he just didn’t know how much salt to take with each serving being
a simple child & warm like the one he remembers so dimly but yes she
kept him warm at night as his mind sought the wind but it’s not a thing you see that is
what we know here at the bottom it can’t be found because are you ready i mean
really ready alright don’t say i didn’t warn you it’s because mind isn’t a thing but a
capacity to reveal that is why you’ll never find it no matter how many mountains you
climb you won’t find its shape though your head is round & your heart a vague
pear that is the real fruit of the garden oh you thought it was an apple yes it’s a
common mistake made by those swinging through space but there’s nothing i can do
about it & i don’t really want to because you refuse to look & i’ve gotten used to
it & have come to like it in fact as things are much quieter now here in the dark
