going grating along
grown in a small house
resisting seed
dedicating to its own separate celebration
each flower when it dies
indefinititudinous DAY OF THE DEAD
mourning your own long thing
you leave me to mine
to a tiny magnum opus
strung as so many pearls
we walk on sliding
as through a muddy spectrum.

that you could understand better
i threw away my eyes
and attached my arms to a truck
that drove away i flayed myself
against every painful expectation
letting mudstuck soldiers
usurp my fate and i cut off my hair
to buy you the most beautiful pen
with which to write
your thanks.

all the while waiting for a crush
to collapse the ribs or break into matches
every library -
pages like balloons, torn up in high wind
will be my call to you

i�ll fairly drown in it or find myself
walking in sacred circles
once again and over
and over and over and over.

we drive over so many shrines;
so many shrines.