enrapt by serpentine coils or trembling fingers never
good enough reaching out for your treacle like
cobwebbed tunnels neglected in castles, spanish
ones from so long ago they don't have records
of that time
scream, please, at me if i disappoint you in my
headlong insistence at lacking such pretext as
i deem necessary to become engaged enfolded i said
drenched in your dark and your scales, molting
changeably
bellow, command unhappy with my performance as
caretaker of the minutes you care to spin out in
strands and seethe, unhappy with my unwilling
jabs at the outcropping contentment now within
line of sight
spectacular, fantastic fantasies i maintain, always
as radiant as they are unlikely ever to graze my
face even in this light, even in this hour when i am
my most alone and apart from all my wintry dolls--even
in this light
they still look so china with lips that shine painted
perfect like the babies i'm going to have in twenty years
speaking with mouths full to vomitous choking of the
nothing that lives behind every really nice girl who is full
to choking
i can't afford the time i've taken, take it back i am not
worth the effort often enough, and i feel your hours slipping
through mine with a wasted hatred you give to someone
else in my stead like a gift made of lead i feel like i am
sealed with lead
what a crusade: it's beautiful really, the things i want
to do for you like drag you up by the hair from the
where of where you are and i wonder if i have always
been this narcissistic that i could always see my
self in you