I gave it away recently.
I took a word I knew and
gently set it into someone's open
hand. I told him it was art and that I would
never be his, because even if someone else
came upon me blonde or blasting I would not whither
in the sound cloud. my body would not crumble or drop
off too deep in dream water; where our oceans are raised high
while we are under. I gave him a word I carried while not speaking
I took it out of my pants and softly dropped it into his hands while I was
tripping balls carrying in the new year. it would have been, it should have been
((YES)!). at the tipping point where my glass falters and comes crashing from
the table to the floor where we are in my mind, interstellar. moons coming
up from our fingers, teeth crudely clashing in the ever present war.
I wanted to come to you like that, eyes wide and parched. it
would have been all the universes colliding, consuming
great gulps of moonjuice. the poet in my chest roars
compelled to expose our bodies in word and
catastrophe. as I come quietly in to each
morning I have these brutal thoughts.