~~~~
Put it as such —
have mourning for the end of a
night. Waste
the moon away, try to discard of
all the connotation of song. A
person (or – or! – a girl)
with telling or telling without such terrible, ruinous ambition, with such
and such, with graveside rumination.
Do not grieve what I
learned first and last in lesson. I could/should learn to be an am
from the broken skin of nails obsessive.
On the break of morning sun, I
find that darkness-unholding, that light-which-can contain;
ah, but in truth find nothing.
no, yes, well, no, but
yes, maybe yes, find nothing in the
endless song’s replay.
Well… I…
confess/don’t think I ever will be an “am.”
In the shower at the break of morning sun, blood
drips down my face and
I wash the blood
away. O, and
long to finally turn off the replay.
Key of contents: The running water; the second wind; the keeping (close to my chest) the who that I;
then finally, there is no am.
Believe what grief you please.
Or don’t.
I have not yet gone where chariots go.
