In the darkness I say, “It burns us.”

everything that passes my way is a moment of delirium,

but you beckon me forward nonetheless,

funny how you chart my paths,

as though I had no idea where I was going,

or maybe you do,

and desire to hold on to me; a forsaken vestige of what once was,

trapped within glaciers, like frosted gases,

like earthen geysers,

reds and yellows, greens and greys,

nothing really holds true these days,

I take another toke, I sip another smoke,

and you, well, you go on without me,

proving that you are needless,

showing that you are heedless,

your strength prodding at my lack of awareness,

pure heat blaring from the recess,

but there is no rest here,

no water for Achilles,

and who runs but you and I,

for when I look around and see beyond you,

I know that emptiness looms,

callous and conceited,

terse and fetid,

allow me to be the loss that I am,

may I pass as bluebells and bonnets,

speak not to me in words of prose,

pray not the day in solemn sonnets,

precious to me is every ringlet,

press into me like direst signet,

hoping to leave a mark,

wishing to set a spark,

and again, I am lost without you,

but found am I within your bosom,

mend you now this distraught schism?

teaching me your catechism?

and your Pentateuch is lost on me,

holding to conformity,

So when you preach,

remember, see,

all of the damage you do to me,

hold to your phylactery,

keep your verses,

let me be.


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