there are certain concessions
i am willing to make. this music
could be a voice speaking to anyone.
this is what the words said.
"i do not have a story
to tell. in fact i have less
and less to even say to
you every day. if it can
be simultaneously said that
i love you, then we will.
not disregard for your predicament,
a glass eye peering into
a funhouse mirror - nor
my tendency to tumble
headlong into disaster.
what this is is more or
less a declaration of love.
though i am sure you will
misunderstand even that.
which i am trying to make clear.
at some point i thought
my heart might burst. this
is so restricted. it still just
might. what this is all to say is,
i did once. when you were tired
and lay in bed all day i loved
you then. when you jaundiced
and constantly hacked
and coughed and spit.
when your eyes dried up
in your head. but this i
cannot stand. your ridiculous
prattle, the posthumous dance,
your business of coming
i am sorry about your lip. when you
were singing i fell in love with the pink
in your mouth. i wanted my skin to match
so badly that now i look like the devil.
now i only want to be quiet, to hear you
sing again. to generally keep as still as possible.
to speak of the human body and not
to speak of the human body.
things people die and are made of.