For a moment don’t even think
I am doing this because of
You.
The earth is dry,
But these cracks shall congeal
Into furious disgorges, into the
Muck they conceal.
The terrestrial world does it
So well, like everyone else,
And I have never adapted
To this kind of living.
These mouths spew flames
At me,
Eyes squeezed out, leering at
The sin, the sin.
How I wish you were here, or at least
Your cold hands,
For they would congratulate me.
I wonder why these people don’t
Clap or scream.
Is this not a celebration?
Instead lumps of air shriek in their
Throats like reluctant hinges
Squeaking rust after rust.
The mouth is door to the soul,
Not the eyes.
The eyes are the windows.
They can only say and let in so much.
They can only say and let in so much.
I didn’t fall in love with your
Eyes actually; your words
Were so much better.
You misered on them as if they would
Sting if let feral.
They’re just words.
We have the whole thesaurus to squander
And the whole world to bribe.
They’re here now.
I can hear the big metal doors unlatch
Now. I have on my right the face
Of heavens and on my left a blank stare.
Disquieted looks, queasy eyeballs:
I am being appalled by this scene.
I dreamed they would throw
Hats at me, or roses, or coins.
But I am seeing this.
Gray, cobbled path leading me
To my couch of blackness,
This gait, pompous and proud,
My arms spread to thank
This flesh for its miracle of making me
Home for years.
Home for years.
This is my moment.
The world has finally blessed me with this.
The days have been long,
And my eyelids are laboring.
In a minute I shall sleep
Like I was ever born of this
World.