the day turns
here. the night
creeps passed.
i write people. i
give words
not theirs but,
my own words
i shove down
throats. i lose
my lip. when i fight
my legs give way.
i swallow not words
but my own...
sweet desire,
how shall i feed
myself then?
fighting is such
a ruthless battle
in the basement
in a music hall,
my lips burst open.
who's blood?
the sound of dark.
the drop of
a ring? a tuba? a tremor?
reverberations...
my legs gave way.
i don't know the meaning...
what i cannot say...
you must.
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