february 13th, 15th, and 17th //
i.
head is heavy,
pierced and hung
with rusting silver hooks,
a beaten, bruised box
of twisting counter-thought,
wrought in aching anguish
ii.
I CANNOT BREATHE
THROUGH IT ALL
iii.
mind is twisting,
kaleidoscoping,
losing vibes to reality,
iv.
and i see your face,
a waking moment,
a lapse in judgement,
v.
and i collide—burning star—into you,
splitting time and space
between my staticky fingers
and i clutch our throats, burning twin ropes
so deep into our skins
that all i’ll hear
for centuries
is your hissing screams
vi.
head is twisting around and around,
spinning until all is blur,
great, wild, unknown,
but your words,
keeping me aground,
with a soft eye-close,
picture of perfect safety,
skin numbing to outsides in
a trusting let-go of surroundings,
of knowns,
of reality,
vii.
AND I PULL ON THE
BLACK-WHITE TETHER,
REACHING INTO DARKNESS BEYOND,
HOPING YOU’LL PULL ME BACK
viii.
“i’ll be dreaming my dreams with you” (“dreaming my dreams” by the cranberries)
ix.
HOW WILD AND NEW THIS
BLIND TRUST—BLIND WANT—
IS! (how i miss you)
(i think it is seen—)
(the great big hulking beast of unloved love)
x.
PULSE OF ACHING (TERROR) NIGHT AIR,
GAPING GASP OF BURNING SPACE
(I HOPE YOU PULL ME BACK TO SHORE)
(TO HOME)
(TO YOU)