La De-Nucleation du Moi

Your blue eyes
show forth in lust

a splintered
light as if your

entrails were
exchanged for

pure quartz that
catches in fracture

your turquoise
sex shining upward

from below,
mirrored in

the viral mathematic
in your schizodelic

gaze: You change
your mind transparently

about all things
that come to you

and treat of them
as ungraspable

gratuities, shining
in the radial spokes

that wheel about
your wanton

eyes that want for
nothing. Madness

unrecognized is
a tragic thing,

the rend between self
and other, filled

with royal ice
that holds at bay

the desire to reach toward
anything real

but that which
you will never have,

neither see another
move close to you

nor feel the hairs
erect in every pore

that know the breach
and flee before

the self comes clear
to its own approach,

the buried life, lived out
full upon an open air.

Your body is a warmth
that your words belie:

Your eyes are
blue, and endless

blue. I kiss their
lids and feel the rush of

blood, a preliminary
brush with death:

Love takes us out,
raises us to

the level of the true
and disappears.

Am I blue? I'm utterly
in love with absence,

give to its presence
your own name

and know your lips
for what they are not:

Your wet kisses
will never be the same.


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