have you heard about the way things move

have you heard about the way things move

and what about the sad things that live alone

feeding themselves to their own bodies

until they become so large every sound they

make is almost Wagnerian except

the orchestra are dragging their hands across

enamel, that visceral scree. cicadas dying

in front row, a clock ticking louder, louder

louder. the violinist is running a bow across

the shrieking teeth of a sad, lonely man

and it hurts physically to hear it but it's

beautiful too, because they are still

hitting all the notes exactly right

and when the second trumpet comes in, the sad

things, two of them: one full of holes, protects

the other from puncture. i know how this goes

and what of the fear, what of the idea of it,

the blue hue of the room, what of opening

their hands and pushing woodwind, brass, strings

what of a dream of blind horses, scattering

across a golden sky. what of a ship ablaze

on the horizon, what of gardens. so many of them

blooming in their millions. and what about this gulf

that takes it all from me in an instant

and what if you don't really love me

i could be afraid forever

i could die under here, i know it

i've felt it, i've gone out to purchase

the end. i have it on hand. ready.

i run the bath. i touch my skin. i

finger the bottle of pills until they blister

my hands. sometimes this is all there is

it's as though nothing else has ever been

but that one bad thing i can't talk about

but what of the world i never got to touch

with my mouth? no way this is all there

was! no one can dance here. no one wants

to stay. there isn't even a door. only

that cold, dead dream, the hell that covers

everything, all. tell me it isn't so

tell me that you love me and that there

are birds waiting for me. tell me on the

other side of this, there is love

so much of it that it is dying over itself

in a heaping mess of sin, of warm devastation

tell me that i'm whole. that you'll be there

waiting for me. tell me you're scared too

let me hold you. there

is a world of seconds bending slowly into

a mouth, wide. singing about the love of form:

yours, mine, and how we stayed here because