Entre nous soit dit...

I.
All of the distant shapes
in photographs
are so raw and unserious
like raw meat or
meteors and hard things
floating through the galaxy.
The lines lead to openings
to black holes
and to primary places.
It pulls me upstairs.
do you hear the whispering?
It whispers back to me.

II.
I want to cup my hands around your ankles
Don't you understand?
I see your clothing in pieces.
Each piece a part of you,
each, apart from you
just nothing but singular.
God, I want to do your laundry
Fold you, dress you
Make my gaze sharp enough to hurt you.
Come to me with all your years of misery
I will offend you.
I know not of these things
but I want you to be infantile
from rebirth...
I know nothing.

III.
You will walk again,
you will write again with wicked fingers,
you will stay awake when you're tired
and you will sleep nervously
to the sound of new lungs waking
like good days.
Look at my objects
the tips of my hair are pre-historic
what, 5 years.
Fallen fossils
What, like my inner side
blazing.