Your Work Is Upon Me

My love...you've made of me--your Work

is upon me.

For, it is you, and only you beholden to

the virtue or vice of that Work.

My love...you've made of me--your Work

is upon me.

Out of the many you, out of the many I...

out of the many we--leave nothing and

everything to the imagination.

There I before, there you before me--

over and again...no need of space economy.

As so goes haunt and be haunted, heart

calls up to mind, and mind down to heart...

with the indispensability of sure place they

give their all...all heart...all mind.

These, yes...these the inviolate ports of this

most warm blood, heart and mind.

My love...you've made of me--your Work 

is upon .

For, it is you, and only you beholden to 

the virtue or vice of that Work.

Rats have traversed the aforementioned ports...

proliferate upon them.

The genius of your Plague upon me.

Konstantinos Mark