her heart bursts open as it beats,
for one last act of pointless percussion,
she cries,      "you are part of my perfect prison."
this tender poison;
an anesthetic apathy,
I am here, don't you see me?
*******, I'm alive!

I am.
growing.

empty space
doesn't really mater
unless there is nothing
where something used to be

It seems we often find ourselves,
entering
into animated conversation
at inconvenient hours.

And this is best.

That
which compels things to happen.
which lets all of their motives and passions slip through.

There are subtle diamonds
woven into the patch-work mystery of the nighttime,
the stitches of which,
we unravel
and
let
drip
into our open mouths
in eager anticipation,            
of sedated


excitation.

I am Dogma.
I am Poison.

I am "Please, Someone, tell me what to do!"

I am Newly Turned Earth.

give me this and no other,
slender golden instants of splendid earth's living,

i shall return,
not to take the mystery out of loving,
nor the mastery of perfection,

but to bask in their
Unsubdued.

you're my solid sunshine,
you're my only pair of shoes,
you're my science-fair volcano,
my big, fold-out topographical map of the moon.

a quiet kind of clean soon followed
away in the crematorium
kings and cool lovers danced slowly
a quiet kind of clean came suddenly
we followed it closely
but it got away

she breaths right down the middle.
swings low to the ache of percussion,
and palpitation.
.
she said I should have been a painter.
maybe she was right.

And there it was-
I'll tell you all the truth you ask of me-
Let all of my hesitation- reservations- love-
Pass by unnoticed- unheeded- misheard-

Be it strange- or be it my aptitude towards the unholy,
Whether the soft touch of the willow-fed irises-
Or the half-life glare of nighthawks, posed aloof and aloft-
In full conscious awareness of their physicalities-
With willful composure- and heads turned just so.

the warmth of dusk,
cold science of night,
holding on to the promise of
changing,  with weary fingers
tracing shapes on
invisible seconds,
that came before:
-improbable.

I was entranced to begin with.
nothing you could have done would've changed that.

I spy with my little- I
Spy with my little eye

a sleep cutter
red sheet maker
wet pillowcases and
wet pillowcases and
blankets.

I saw a man once,
walking slowly.

and
once behind the plexiglass wall of a bus stop overhang
I saw an advertisement that read
BLONDE IS GOD
and the model was thin- and her skin was enhanced by zeros and ones-
and I was entranced by her.
and she was GOd
and she was made to be beautiful.
and she was made out of beautiful.
and then, on my way home I passed by the place again and her picture was gone
and instead was the image of a raven haired beauty-
***** and lustsome with bedroom eyes
and she looked at me and said,
I AM EVERYTHING
and smiled, adding bluntly,
BUY MY BODY AND DRINK MY BLOOD.
I gazed upon her airbrushed ******* and breathed,
No,
I refuse you,
BLONDE IS GOD
and bleach touch-up foam, Our Savior.
and *** is God
and the Natick Mall is my favorite place to be
and I love you.

and I am i
and barely . -
and
YOU ARE EVERYTHING
and I will always adore you.
and

everything i have ever done, becomes quantified in this, tell me how to be beautiful- tell me how to be worthless-  tell me-



once, behind the plexiglass wall of a bus stop overhang
I saw an advertisement that read
BLONDE IS GOD

i see you,
from flesh to your fantasies-
working towards muted cadence and clarity,
though choice and change-
dog-dare devilry and always the moon

and if i could stand to see you crying,
i would tell you
not to care at all

it doesn't mater
which of our fantasies fall.

come and kiss me wild.
wild like jaguars perched in the stocky boughs of trees.
wild like the minutes that wash away.
free as time's possessions,
small pockets of instant passions,
wild like the moment-
I ran my fingers through your hair

for the very first time.