Because I wanted light
the evenings grew
too long to see it.

Because I wanted hope,
I grew too tired
to stand.

Because I wanted
a conspirator,
a mutual dream,
a world of laughter;
of soft touches
to my arm.

You cannot have
the simple things.
There are far too many
intermediaries here;
so I wonder
why we have
anything
at all.

It is not that the world
is bad; or sad, or lonely;
to these things I have grown
accustomed.

It is simply the boredom;
the seasons change
with no differences made.
With no connections
newly established
and all the old ones
faded.

We cannot laugh like children
We cannot stop and watch;
our souls are rendered
useless and lifeless
and there is no pity
from the mechanisms
and the strings
and the pulleys.

I am tired of endurance.
I am sick of these denials
I solemnly refuse
to stay within these constructions.

I have nothing but venom
and exhaustion.

Remove each limb
and you will see what I have
for a soul. Incapable
of building; incapable
of walking, of moving,
of deconstructing. Now,
they've come to gouge
my eyes; seal my lips in wax,
fill my ears with putty.

And there is no option then
but to dream of spitting, and
then to dream your arm
lingered longer; and my eyes
could take in all this light
you exude too perfectly.

If they left my arms
I would build you a castle
in the sand; and if they left my legs
I would walk you to the towers
and if I had my lips I would sing to you
yes, I swear it, I would sing! And with my fingers
I would grasp your fist in mine, and ensure you
of your warmth; and in these arms I would tangle you up
in joyous escapist hymns;

and we would sleep, a long, restful sleep
and dream our separate dreams
to share when they conclude.

And in the morning, we'd raise up arms
against all these motherfuckers
and the cogs, and the gears
and we'd blow the guts out
of this disgusting machine
of universal sickness
and mass produced despair.

You and I, love: We are decidedly
modern.



-e.









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