proem: desperation

a cycle (this in particular) always begins where it left off.  i am betrayed; i do betraying.  my body, ever obedient, is about to betray, poised on the

cusp of betrayal.  betrayal of him, and betrayal of itself.  doing anything to be let off--fucking, loving the taste of being touched--i will let anything happen

to let me off.

goddamnit, moon.  even better or worse than where we left it, the feeling of you like a pungent sore in my eye.  like a sty or some other unsavory.

i want to scratch the self out of me; to simulacrate; to become some similar thing

and float free away

like moonlight

which turns what it touches

inanimate.

broad pointilism: "running up that hill"

making     the decision that     i am not ready yet          is still so hard     so hard to make    

in part because     because it implies     that someday i will be ready.

oh god why     why am i left at this angle.     listing to one side     with your name on my lips.

why is my heart broken

why was my heart born broken

why have i always to heartbroke becoming


god oh god where have you left me     what do i learn from herebeing
surrounded by lush stars     the hot dark velvet of space     the taut heaving sheath of time     bent all around me     waiting to be     taken up    taken up and in

ice-planet i am     a burning heart      ice piled up atop     nothing can melt

this vise of ice

poem-form: "sister midnight"

the moment of a leaf's fall,
its turn from stem,
its rest upon
the buoyant air,
a movement within

the pull of the ground.

these moments from time and space are culled
as if i plucked leaves from the air.

tum-tum tum-tum
tum-tum tum-tum
as if i plucked
leaves from the air