I
The wrenching swing of her song
her song
again.
Flings her voice into air
offering up to silhouettes
Full range of sound speaking fire
shadow speaking sound conscious of its reflection
Her I she is but me and I her
I sway with this warmth that
lingers
so leisurely on skin
that spills of an emptiness
that knocks on the back of my head
In its opening
I remember of a music I've
never heard before
II
Wide eyed
wilt into the weak wind
they hang desperately
folding into edges on the horizon of my gaze
If the mirror keeps staring
will they know the future I walk to
like a sleepwalker damned to that old dream
that old music
Paper begins to speak
(that's how we lose ourselves)
whispering so faintly like
rabid figures washed into illusions
If I look long enough catch a glimpse
of a face emerging dissolving behind each rising tide
pitiful pitiful
I will gouge your eyes out
III
Crawl in my skin fear
circles above to shudder
me in its shadow silently dragging
the heart that moans and shrieks in tears
Drown its own blood and
I swear it wasn't me it wasn't me it was me
Please
I know
I don't deserve this poem
that reaches with ghost hands to lift your limp body
snap my neck
no,
there is a shape music cannot fill
there is an emptiness that carves and carves and carves
till I cease
till I cease
