Brittleness in light-
        stark bright yellow
        above circling dun bluffs-
        stark blighting blackness in the west-
        heavy electric air that stills
        birdsong, and silences
        July afternoon breeze.

        nearly three years ago
        ferociously hostile
        to any passion
        to the smallest tenderness
**
        déjà
        trois ans
        farouchement hostile
        à tout élan
        au moindre épanchement

        always the same
        it seems
        she has not yet
        ever ever
        quite understood
        all their useless cruelty

        far from dumpster mornings
        far from winter’s frozen spittle
        far from a man-made sun
        always poised to bring death

        and truly because my heart is no longer
        twenty years old
        nor has it the bitterness of a shriveled
        old woman
        there is no enduring noon

        when without knocking
        she opens
        enters
        unlike
        anyone else
        ever

        really in spite I think
        that in the arms of another
        you sleep
        then
        my head in my burning hands
        then my heart my heart
        my poor sick heart

        After kissing earth, fever peels
        skin from the hands of fate. It's rich
        enough to grow armies of men
        spearing each other in that harvest.

        I dream and am dreaming.

        I dream of his lips
        and hands.

        His mouth, his words
        but he's not saying and I haven't heard.

        Last night, he jacked off
        in the bathroom,

        undisturbed.

        The death rune is symbolised by the yew tree
        which is the best wood for carving runes made sacred
        if the myth about Odin found hanging from the tree
        is the same as card number 12 where sacrifice must be
        made to gain recognition of repetitive patterns that bind