little root, I saw you
in a candlelight, pulsing
in and out of change. The
godness in it falters; a sick step,
rubbing raw the hinge
shed or decay? little root
I loved you, and the slick’s run
slow, are there things imbedded
so deft, so well planned… you said
I had free will, so.
fresh blood. how clean I see it
every tendril of me needlelike, sewn and
trespassed into being. How I didn’t want just
as much as I did. The terror of
happiness. The endedness of joy…
little root, could I have you, whole
as a horseshoe, full as a vase? arrange my
spine as a shrine for totality; love me
with your killing gaze, welcoming and
wet, sweet and searing, laughing at me
til the end of nothing and after