Guess you’re gone, has it been so long since last I felt your hand what I wanted has changed oh brother of my spirit once we felt each others’ eyes, each others’ skins, was a wreckage whole with you. Be my fucking valentine next year we’ll make the grade, yes, next year we’ll make the grade.
Meanwhile I keep my own time, try to listen for wildebeests and maladies I’ve hardly come to terms. But I trust in my own, my dynamism, set fire to the sadness and watch it burn. And turn around, in the frosty window, I see my perfect sorrow. Still and born, and born again, I am ever at odds with memory. She plays tricks on me and wishes me encapsulated.
But no, not gonna go, gonna stay right here and dine on frogs’ legs and sweet breads: the stuff of dreams. Baby man will be my guide to heaven and my saviour too: you’re true even in delusion. In search of love, we’ll paddle thru thorns and self-mutilate, yet our souls will not be vanquished.
– February 2, 2012