the funny thing about poetry is that it can be
short, and say everything the world ever
needed to know without
saying much at all
or it can be
long
and never
do anything except
make people sin because
they know of its troubles and how it longs
to be short
and in the same way
you pervert my thoughts
twisting them into anguished
rivers of melted brain, enough
to rattle a body straight to hell
making me wish that i had
been shorter, or at
least short enough to forget.
still, i zig zag across the sun
limiting my love to nothing but
the way it clings to the earth
the same way you cling to the
last breath i never took
but i will
never forget how the
spring warmed me right up
or how your chains held me
together for so long that even
the moon, who so waits for his
friend no longer waited for
you and your lavender
blood, your gilded
eyes, your silver
heart