CORRUPTED (WASTEWATER)

We ask to be made too

. . .

short and bleeding to be

. . .

strangled with candy floss

. . .

to taste what it takes

. . .

to reach another to be absolutely 

. . .

nothing but spoken about 

. . .

to spell innocence or renewal

. . . 

to know it’s always been there

. . .

that time is short and to expect nothing

. . .

to say how the window is a stranger 

. . .

once more to know that the end

. . .

of water is a flood.  

THE POET’S POET (WRITING & REWRITING THE FINAL LINE)

Every blanket’s worth a voice. In the end. 

. . .  

The bandages suggest torture. Or execution.

. . . 

The ambition to grasp the totality of existence.

. . . 

The lies of despair and consolidation. The sublime.

. . .  

The harvest view you’re so ashamed of. Clouds.

. . . 

The desolation above you. Nothing else.

. . . 

The child walks by a mirror tired of being one of many.

. . . 

The diaphanous wax and pigments. Speech.

. . .

The mark of an individual – an ambitious solo.

. . . 

You never see the grass crawl near the flames.