Into the all affecting dusk, ‘em’ monster-
a little, unbound, recalling--a certain fragment.
O sky, I rent, ‘into’ your fervid self,
O animating river, great enfolden want,
I need a dirge: my feet rent, into you.
Will the free, come? (I want it relentlessly)
or will you come close again, great instinct--
beating down, my brain-to-chest-to-knees?
‘Will I fall to her memory, with not but a breath to call self?’
Inoculated? This scent, this flesh, this (see what I must).
See what I must, placed you into dejection;
There are drifts here, sullen bodies that cause ripples:
Could have made love before, clasped hands before;
shuddered in thirst once. Opening the mouth of ignominy,
can you tell, where this ends; can you tell where this must end?
This must end. Consummation, of need and of wants.
Out of consciousness a thought will slip loose--
out of the membrane; the endless water pushing against
new mortal conflict, fluttering action of eyes, and shallow living;
salt never tasted so sweet, with a mind full of enmity.
An orison peeks between the currents, and me;
O Lethe open up your veins, for good health spread
what is needed, from your plain spread ancient stroke--
within a name pour forth balming translucent waters;
Reliving, melt away with conscience--but mayhap...take your time?