January 8th, 2017: We have been alone and I love you

Under watery darkness with clear gone silence,

my eyes are slowly open and the illusion remains.


Animals speak without moving and

visions dissolve to silt, we are

the river growing still.

We are patience into stone.


My soul is flecks of sweat sent hissing through the fire,

weakness I hope will pour off abandoned-

you are behind me alone,




no longer breathing.


My fingers close on conversations of snow,

our bodies run off through the bitter cold

surrounded by brittle and sour words, acidic pitiful.

There is no great clarity here to slit your wrists.

We search for miles but cannot remember the world.

I don’t know. I don’t know

what we want.


Wrapped in leaves, bodiless and apart from life

and real sounds of living echo the way

with fossils of movement my fading sorrowful eye.

We don’t speak but stand naked and drowsy

seventy years apart and dying.


The waves close over our shaking heads

but I feel no commitment

to the vain charade



I’ve been here and wandered through distastefully.


I’ve been trying to reach you

with knotted strings and dust.

This moment remains alone, only.

I squat in the empty road

where ghosts circle a thin white bone,

soft murmuring hands, my blood shakes.


Our bodies are glass

which shimmers like water, darkly

and we disappear into each other

sailing away

with hands outstretched and

charcoal blood, shut eyes sticky

with chance and doubt.


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