on the off , dancery lane Chance, a phone screen take-away, pick up a shot or two along the way, rev myself. direction myself to an old tomb, where I left you. dig you upstairs, pulling bannisters, walls fade into cotton photo folio. I pretend I hold you, but I watch others. I take in, almost, names fall. slowly they crawl back until it’s just us. your hand pressures, naked eyes splinter, but I stay with the line. For what a terrible song would that sin. head f

your face_ voice_ endless cool is misplaced to make me the fool indeed for you are only my wanting breath_ if i had to have_ it were you to be that face_ that voice that endless joy_ to be corrupted flawless_ crippled with perfection_ ruined with seamlessness _ just to must make my mouth muddle _ share a thought_ then drop as if it were never to be said_ only written on electric that floats around the sphere around the surround sound in my bobble head _ _ _ _ your ey