yearning’s empty throat flickering like an aging lightbulb

I am just trying to. Be something. In the light.

/Not your holy fire or an endless daze to fall into

to flee the endless days.

I’m a whisperthroat & poor eyes

full to the crown with dancing nights. Or so

I dream. How tired of teeth

can you grow, do you think. I bruise his collarbones.

He moans for me.

The silvered words are seeking my ankles.

Life is string & if the puppet longs to fly

does the yearning rot its cords

& is the fall to the ground

close enough?

I knew some kids who tried it out.

(& why can’t I speak my soul in the empty spaces/

what star forgot how to glow & how will we ever

know it)

We were getting lost in waves of electric

cheap beer, stoned

speaking of nothing

within our heads

& the saliva coated the entire carpet,

the walls & the ceiling

but we couldn’t talk about it

because it was

something.

(& I was just trying to

be something

in the light, my dear.)