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
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