…since i

cannot come to

cannot receive myself

cannot allow that

i am entering

into others

and out of

myself

 

since i

lost the way

i had walked

in the twilight

of my

conception,

left it

and now

am licking,

stumbling

like a

bleeding dog

at my chaps,

on the end

of a day

merely

foisted

on me

by

night

 

… i am returning

to myself

and suddenly find

it had been others

who have left themselves

to find their future

inside my warmth

 

an illusion

of encounter

which cools

their

effervescent

dedication

to a

rough cast of

empty words…

in the sandbox

still sitting

in the

corner

 

i have

never hoped,…

merely taken

the detour

 

at that

by mere

chance

others

put words of

a seeming strength

in my ear…

 

yet there

are still

their myths of self-images

hibernating…

in the spring of feelings, however,

they babble

into the large stream,

where the

maelstrom of honesty

are washing around

the autumn lies

and the creatures

are fearing

the loss

of future

summers

and

breeding

and autumn birth,

 

unloved

shadow twin