Wednesday, September 1, 2010

The Mouth Is a Pit

And sense of self should cry out Self! and Self! and Self! and
we should sit darkly only so long that
nirvana can slip from a bed and ceiling of ego
away. It’s not that I love you: I want
you to love me; let me impress you; let impressions of me
lie like treadmarks across your face, over your eyes and
between your fingers and around
your waist.
Please,
do not let me waste
away.