...because it is 4:00 am
and I am wide awake
wondering what sky caresses what skin
tonight
I read the confessions
from that Summer
I did not write
nearly enough the testimony
and tonight I wonder what is it
that happens to us
when we bleed like that
dry ink unable to write
the blank
pages lack
evidence
present themselves bare
as if
we did not swallow much the same air
such eons ago
such eons
the pictures tell a smoother tale
cleaner faces paying for things stolen
with things broken
will we ever climb over this one
Dah'lin
like you say it
when I most need to hear it
I hear you
listening to you
say less than you did before
how did I become
this not as slender one
marked with more than
survival
all I have been doing
is surviving
without your air rushing through my lungs
breathing has been
boring
at best colors carry the bland gray
of things washed too often
but it is night
and you are not in my neck of the woods
no need to listen no window
no unexpected rapping of sorts
only the steady
silence that has become my companion
all is well
I am always well
I consider taking my own life
far less frequently
no one need be on watch
anymore
safe as I am
bloody boring if you ask me
no one asks me anything
except large questions
of faith and ferver
I changed the sheets
because you made fun of me
mechanical fucking has never raised the hem
of your garment
Onanist
the word we both laughed at
discursive
the whole issue is simply discursive
words
we always loved them
and I collect dictionaries
of all kinds
so I can look at them
when no one is looking at me
everybody seems
like a cotton cloud removed
from my hearing
my feeling
my knuckles ache tonight
and I wished I had written more about
how time did not exist
at best
memories are what we negotiate
with fate
death to ease us away from
knowing
we all have to go
sometimes
let me go in my own choice
time
method
you are not Virginia
you said
of the hours you are not Virginia
and I know I am not
she wrote
aching
and it seems I write
less when I ache
more when I love less when I sleep less
more of this is impossible
sleep has got to come soon
be still bebe
wait
and I will come
chants the sandman
wait child
and I am tired of waiting for days
hours
I wrote what might become the cornerstone of what
my director and I will haggle
over
lament
yes night finds me lamenting
wailing without sound
I am waiting for five a.m.
almost here
sleep
and sex and silly utterances
that do not come from only mouth
thrashing
within the boundaries of who I used to be,
Staceyann