817

a forward reinvention out of death i must recycle myself into perfection i would rather wash and dry my hair than to love, love you i would rather be old and diseased and wrinkled and suffering than to love, love you and true,maybe you were a beginning for me but not the end compressedof the heart and gut and sex and jealousy an education a presumption of powerlessness i want to fold over the lessons of you and stuff them and hide them inside deep crevices only you have known never to be learned in the light of day or in the black of night ever, ever i would rather sleep fourteen hours and miss all the good sunshine than to be loving you i would rather be cold and dirty and pitiful than to be loving you i should be deaf or mute or both or penniless or cruel i should be deranged, or worse, ordinary or mundane or boring anything but to be loving you because i cannot, will not ever again