(121)

she won’t choose what is right
an insult to the depths of herself
mistrusting requirements
abandoning them for the magic of identity
the suggestion of the eternal

she doesn’t die
she can’t
without colliding with the everlasting
transitory Universe
a function of the old trouble

we come from a knot
no nearer embracement
than when we believe ourselves to be

she wanted to believe
windswept and trembling
she wanted

(120)

to shield me is an insult bewildering
let yourself go
passion is sanity fated to pass
(if not punctually)
a transitory Yes
a stream of the moment

(119)

we radiate something curious
the story of the Universe
(itself small--a function of the fear that things won’t fit)

(118)

I’m no different than memory
I’ve traveled to misty places
where foreign flowers bloom in starshine
gone and failed to learn to speak
traded my last bit of sanity for a ticket home
----
I meant what I said
I’m sick
a cosmic fuck-up
everything my desire
----
sidewalk memory
all blood and grime
staring up at the cosmos
flowers forcing through the cracks