|||
waking life is
as thin as the
dawn—broken,
blue, moon
lying in a tattered
whole, the light
opened and needle-etched
onto my eyelids: frailty
recognizing frailty,
or—the fear of life
finally supplanting that of
death. hope
becomes a less fascinating
word when its real
name is patience.
maybe I don’t want
to give it time. maybe
it’s not enough to love
the world into a home.
sun-toothed
and silent, the trees
watch me relentlessly
turn the soil to coax out
further desperate blooms:
I want to be
untouchable
—better,
soulless. I want to know
what to do with
this poisoned thing
bubbling obscenely behind
all my closed doors.
must I belong wholly,
incessantly to myself?
I don’t know
anything else.
the world seems, through
the lonely glass,
nowhere at all.
Twitter: @vilefiendinc
