Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into an artifice of eternity.

Tuesday, July 26, 2016


~for JH~

The thin man is starving himself
out of hunger and back
to judgment, his final feast. 

He grows gaunt on jealousy
and drifts downstream
on a raft of anxious bones – 

Fever speaks and names itself
but only in the mirror
and only when alone with its symptoms; 

sleep shrinks ascetic and awakes
to itself like a benediction –
even the air is dieting and thin, 

a mole in search of a hole to haunt …
There are stones enough to weigh him down
but we all cast them first, 

and that is why there’s nothing left to say –
why desire’s knot tightens its noose
or infancy becomes its own vanishing point: 

a bird hovering above an empty nest,
a bee lost among dead lilacs
seeking the scent of home, 

or vows rushed into print, silence
hearing itself crash into music,
and music closing on its own center.

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