rien de rien, comprends?
at least, let's start with the self
the other self
you talk about distance and
(I have failed at this before)
I fumble, distinctly, and
Oh, I am capable
of such immense smallness
(the weight inside my hand)
decay
this ridiculous curve where
; the wait,
; inside—
(my hand)
I grasp
I exaggerate my fear which is
nonetheless, real
(quivering)
my hand
(I had a dream I was telling you about a dream you were in
and you were nonplussed)
I exaggerate
I grasp
I am afraid—does someone
have to love more? I should resurrect—
where the hand wants smoothness
but does someone have to want?
I reach
where
the heart wants to be contained
so why
does it leap so?
