sky

i know nothing of the ghosts that feed the mice
I can’t hand off the keys to the sky
but if you just point yourself northwest
i will get back my hands
that is to say nothing of the wind
or the men who bear resemblance
but who can spare them their minds
to only grow a third hand
in haste i turn inward
to the shame of all those watching
for shame
for love
for greed
i know the taste of you too well
i just don’t know why you had to ask
and he knows that he’s just the scratch
but it’s love all over, the same.
and I don’t know how it ends
because I always make it begin
and I feel the hunger cross over
as soon as he starts to drop away
i wrote this on the back of a mirror
and somehow i still feel the same.