Monday, June 27, 2016

life during wartime.

the boy i grew up with- the
binary star-
said to me


when he was to grow
he would find vengeance
for all the sick things
my family did to me

and he, my brother, would die doing it.

"you would not change your mind
when this action presents itself

as consequence, when
you will be frightened beyond
belief?" asked i. no,

said he, i reckon i will be

out of my mind-
desensitized to fear, disregarding

of its power, carelessly.

i would protect you from death, i said. i will
find a way to change your process
to how i'd prefer it. action leads to action,
action not necessarily to approval or disapproval
or inevitable punishment.
action leads to action i respect this.
to action. that is it.

we kill. we kill.
we kill kill kill kill kill kill
kill kill kill kill we kill kill kill
kill kill kill we we kill
kill kill kill to to get by
to get by we kill kill
fe fi fo fum we kill kill ha we kill i want
neon drum as we kill kill kill pogo stick
pow pow bam wow kill we kill kill
kill kill kill for our
own good we kill kill kill

surprise is dead, already i
know, we buried it
when sick things happened to me.
it is
bewilderment which casts fog;
bewilderment is all.

already i see what i want, he went
on in our folie a deux. it's practically

already happened- i see it
in the past : dead.
i see
i see

i see

i see

true love
true love
fixed on a clock and also on a
cross, true love wearing a crown
of thorns and ruby unable to fix itself
any other place no where else

the boy who once said to me
maybe it would be
a little nice
to act
a little dangerously

does not remember me after
all these years i devoted
to praying for his return, he,

independent of my treatment toward him
and myself
a gathering of ticks
blast alight on his legs

so i forced myself to seem cavalier
to myself

not at all.
i was to step back as i believed i needed
to understand

and understanding needed patience to be
and this is what it would take

for his love to come back to be.
i was to choose to want him only how
it used to be

we killed.

and expectedly he looks at me as if we are
both machines, neither

to be trusted
past our inevitable attachments to machines.

it hurts.
we kill.