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

not ever

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

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