| We move by instinct, darling
|
| let our hands be hatchets, let us
|
| wander blindly, swinging madly
|
| in a forest made of flesh.
|
| we move by instinct, darling
|
| let our eyes like lepers drive
|
| the doubters from our homes and
|
| into the bottom of the sea.
|
| and we speak in signals, darling
|
| let our smoke stitch pictures, let us
|
| twist in patterns, dull the horror
|
| of a city still on fire. |
| for
|
| we are like medics handling
|
| suicide by cyanide with bleeding
|
| fingers. |
| let us suffer
|
| completely inadequate.
|
| and we move like lovers, lover
|
| let me run my fingers down your side
|
| and kiss you right below the eye.
|
| we sleep with shadows but
|
| we never give them bread.
|
| horror, dress yourself in shame
|
| or I will tear a hole in you, you harlot.
|
| burn your eyes, (I will hold your
|
| white-washed bones unto the sky and
|
| scream «oh god, if you are there,
|
| I hold this body to your judgment--
|
| give it your wrath or your mercy.
|
| but please pick wrath.») |