Futile Lord
We had so few words,
but what could be said?
Margin to margin we stood
in lines, hands wanting.
Rain wet hair we walked
shaggy dogs in a city night.
Save yourself, you said,
I am already lost beyond…
Could neon puddle the
street like foreign letters?
Read my footseps, my
spiraling fingerprints.
I bought a blank book,
a bottle of amber wine.
Look, the pages sting
with stain and old tears.
After the last sun, what
else could go wrong?
I want you heart and soul.
You give an empty body,
The relief at your grave.
