my life blows in the autumn leaves,
optimistic and innocent. the taste is
everywhere: happiness gullible and clean
as the mouth, insistent kisses
harmful and familiar.

the heart has been naive, frostbitten
with forgetfulness. infantile, pitiless
in so much affection. cruelty hits;
it is mean and soluble, an escape that is
merciless with love.
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the sleeping sky is like coarse sand,
a pointed weapon; an arciform bundle
of dim stars, drab constellations. you remain
in the bed, your eyes on your hands.

this prudence you speak of and the tragedy of
pain is a blast of possibility, a search song
of feelings; easy dissemination removes
your wild miracles to forget the skin.

it is a heartless achievement, love.
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i am a manifested symphony of
burning wisdom in the lazy desire
of soft fluctuations.

i am a spatial bare blue,
an eruptive fountain; i speak
silver venom and make you despise
the humble promise of the sculpture
of song.

you pantomime the wear of love,
a poem carved from stars; our feeble
heat endless and incomprehensible.

a rash of memory, a religion that summons
happenstance and bleeding bone, holocaust
sharp like sugar blisters; obscure crystals
that illustrate an invisible, mean death.

they become the tombs for panting, pounding want.
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