{title}

patron,
my saint!


my woman;

i take care of you as not enough to love, and for my love has only proved docile;

dirty and bereft - my petty heart is. 
nonchalant, i have been.

LANGUID,
your blatant f*****g pig, of worry;
how quotidian; how foolish;

and incisive, oh;
my lugubrious, lugubrious self,
i'm utterly dramatic!

you left me welling from a swell;
from underneath - my throat lumped,
and my eyes you ruled, you crossed, and scraped;

i sit uglier now than our dog, huckleberry;
you turned that button knob. your fingers were pale;
i licked wood. and it tasted like shavings and dust, 

and pollen, and butter.

my tongue stinged still, lingered;
on the buds, it stayed -
- if not so much the
boulder i am, but of mossing rock;
and a dull crevice. and of all the little faults;
i barely hold myself, now, sparsely breathing; and my lungs inflate to the depths of yourself,
i'm little and heavy,

adjointed!

to my wounds you tapered,
to my wounds you licked;

my skin began to falsen, it began to falter, and loosen; and it slipped lose of my pins,
past the stitches that once held me in place, now, 
reheated;

i am all your ignorance, and in those days,
i am all your shadow, your deceit;
i am cut out from my silhouettes; those outer margins,
on you i was cast! remained in the light of the smoker...

semblance!
if for a moment i thought i could, belong;
couldn't to the world of whole; not that i could ever;

i bear your witness, pop-murders on fifth avenue street;

and i told myself that i loved you.


i come from four to quarter hells beneath;
cloaking and fanged, clothing and fanged;
torn apart and grizzly;
contouring bright from the arch of which;

my thick, glittering lips.

we've bid past you farewell;

 
(
and i felt heavy,
and burdened,
and weighted, 
and dry
)

you fill me with great demise;
and that we let you know with great apathy in my heart.