The Wanting

It is all I want.

It is all the want.

It is all the want I am.

The want is all I am.

The want has the godliness of knowing me without my ever having known it.

The want has one simple object.

It has not been found.

I cannot conceive of it.

Wherefrom comes the want?

I am perhaps reduced to this one thing, expansive.

Without me it is not.

Without me it wants not.

Without want it is not that I am.

I am without, without, without the wanting’s it.

{M & Meop} [title pending]

Yes, that’s probably it, I’m certain.

One hand washes back out

to sea, washes back out to sea,

while I sit beached, my will the tide

pulling, pooling

infinitely into such metaphors

overly ripe, overly sweet

voluptuous of course and all that.

Yes, I’m probably certain.

I keep a his smile

I keep a his smile

in mind

at nights

at intervals

a his hands

a his disintegrated

body bits

swirling in

brine, my most peaceful

most constant, brine.

{beloved thing}

It is a vile mouth, I repent.

The skin is unsalvageable, the skin becomes disease-

do not touch it.

The skin is a health hazard.

It is a vile mouth, I repent.

For your safety, do not touch it.

The skin is a health hazard.

It is a vile mouth, I repent.

The skin is unsalvageable, the skin becomes disease-

For your safety, do not touch it.

I repent.

I repent.

It is a vile mouth.

I repent.

It is a spectacle, I confess.

It is paid for with pocket coins, with weekend change.

Forget the behind bars, when you leave, forget it.

Mondays need bear no responsibility.

It is a spectacle, I confess.

Make sure not to visit too long.

Its eyes are irons, irons

in hell’s fire.

You could be needlessly branded.

Make sure not to watch too long.

I confess.

I confess.

It is a spectacle.

I confess.

(jellied flesh convulses gutterward

to be

washed

to be washed

down

to be washed down

into the sewers, out to

sea)