Your restlessness
Is the only thing
Endless
About you.
Your spinning
Dizziness
Sliding
Towards and back
In desperation
For something
Sometimes
Always something
That their nothing
Tries to destroy
Without ever touching.
They hate
They hate
But they call it
Help…
Your you
That won’t ever
Be contained
By you
As you dance
On the rocks
Fearless
And pretend
To paint
The horizon
With your
Index finger.
Pointed, purposeful
Flesh
Gliding through
Space
Impermanent Graffiti
you call it,
With no thought
That even now
They are watching
you.
They hate,
They hate,
But they
Call it
Love…
Your sleep,
Your bed,
Your theories,
Your head,
Your knowing
But you don’t know
Can’t ever know
What you know…
The closeness
The distance
The gait of your
Walk to nowhere
In particular.
Once you drifted out to sea
Effortlessly
Only to be rescued
At 2:13 a.m.
Against your will.
How is it you always
Have so much
To do?
Your only fault:
That you never
Realized that
you breathe
More in spaces
Between
Then in the lines
Of their form,
And now
you pass
Through these
Useless hands
Then disappear again
Just
Like
That.
Atlantic City, New Jersey - 7/15/05
