One of us wears the other like a skin. Mountain lion piss. Winds pass through, blowing hard though nothing breaks. Begin, dreamer.
The kitchen, in front of a mirror, on the living room floor. Logos delivers us to the Cave of the Heart but in the Cave of the Heart there is no logos. Something about pacing, pacifying, or maybe it was patronizing. Name a monster who stayed on the screen.
"But this is what I want," I said that for a long time, had no idea what it was or how it was a lie. Where Bronson Brook straightens in Stevensville, running faster to falls where nobody died but somebody could have. A bell, a bottomfeeder, all in the background. Where the laundry was done, in the darkness there.
Interventions did not abound. Women who sleep with men who build gallows. Everything on the savanna, may I never forget how I loved you. Dying on the cross again, wishing certain women weren't there watching, wishing certain others were.
This is not your et cetera but mine! Lilies bound up in our dream of joy, now and then showing themselves in what newcomers to this church call sunlight. Stories the headboard tells. Oh Christ, leave, oh Christ stay.