Sunday, November 02, 2014

self portrait w/ nude, on fire





and then late afternoon shadows and
the stuttering scratch of
leaves down forgotten streets 


the shadows of lovers, of
unwanted children and forsaken saints 


god and then no
god and then
all of the days i waste waiting to
                              see you again 


an empty room filled with ordinary ghosts and
no one says we have to be here but
no one gives us permission to leave 


this is called the art of standing still 


this is pollock in the
seconds before his death 


not acceptance but panic and
not understanding, not
ever

not ever


and i keep telling you this but
you still aren’t there