Black and silver nights. In this house.
Is this all?
I don't care for the trees. I don't care for the summer. Too much I won't do.
Surrounded by years of collected clothes. What do they serve but a superficial gaze?
Am I but a superficial gaze? Sometimes I want to burn them all.
Here I am seized by Taunton lake nymphs.
Please release me. Release! Release!
Oh to the future! Oh to the unreal!
Only the sameness I can't predict. Only that I can envision.
Night terrors, too. Coagulated goo. Running behind the black cloaked man.
Chasing him up gilt towers. He, at interval, swivels his neck.
Am I still there? Do I still care where he's going? I do.
He tells me to, so I do. I know the way there. Where?
Intuition warns me. Something inside me trusts him.
Love? I must love him. Up Mount Tamalpais, sweating through.
Up to the iron star, four pointed. Down to the water. Thick, black jelly.
Wading so brutally. Grabbing his shadow, collapsing his form.
Pierce through me. Dagger between my breasts. Don't let me go there. Don't go there.
Open the brown double door. I haven't seen you in three months. Are you real?
You look younger. Twenty three years, twenty three tries. Open your bedroom door.
Was it there the whole time? Real skin, real smells. Flesh eating amoeba.
Swimming in the big pond. Deeper. Avoiding the seaweed. Getting to the other side.
Holding you underneath. I've always loved being in the water.
Twenty three tries, the same every time. Biting off your dead skin.
Throwing pebbles at the big rock. I'll want to liquify your smell, bottle it,
take a lick when you're gone again. You will be gone again.
I'll be in this house.
Black thin trees, November absorption lines at dawn,
palming the wiry hydrangeas, the Earth hanging from a massless string through the aether.