Too Close to the Glass

“Age shortens my years

                        Yet brings these good cheers

                        Some nights’re left free

                        & Love’s patient with me”

                        —Allen Ginsberg, “Love Returned” (1978)


Set to fleece—the skin of the roof of its mouth, pricked to the clean—

a fraidy-cat, aloof, politically awakened, but naïve; hollow, questioning gods,

all with a girl-next-door reek & apotheosis cut in-half, cobbled; a precious soul-as-dead feeling, placed, too close to the glass, as words spread like blood on the surface of my desk; worth gore-mornings & carnal-evenings alone, within coronas of light, sodden & sorrowing; the gasp, it

still clings to my torso [full & half]—She—the bottom of its heart—wrote something sweet for me, upon the pall of its bleeding breath.


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