Monday, December 9, 2019


We had come here
each of us
so incomplete

so desperate—so
we screwed up the guts
to dance all night

wild and exhausted
angling and weaving
some semblance of soul

into existence—
this pretense
this shadow

in truth
was a stranger
pure miasma—

less constructive in fact
than the bluish
light which surrounded it

but we desired this—we craved
the matter
much more

than the fact
and we knew that

we didn't think—
we didn't
have the capacity

to realize—
the moment
we ceased

we would lose
completely the need to
stop feeling.