A putrid pit of periwinkle passion
Sits high in my chest
But deep in my gut
Not new
These mocking mock-ups
Seven years in fact
We’ve exchanged words
A lilac loathing licks
At the absurdity of my “me”
At this banal experience
Which puts the fear in us
And stretches out our bones
Seven years ago
I drove into a den of delirium
The lights which then exploded my nerve endings
Have come to electrocute my heart’s cross-fibers
It is now
That I enjoy more the droning mechanics of a simple wall
heater
It’s very shy whining
And it’s very warm kisses
It is now
That I prefer time
Enveloped and sealed
In the precious privacy of my home and my head
Sometimes I feel dead
But here is truth
Here I can hold onto some truth
Instead of querulous questioning
Or repugnant representing
I meddle in the fragility
Of conversation with my self
Here
Fragile
Here
It is now that I am simply alive
