No Use

Is desire such an empty thing?

Each time a star falls

it is greeted with a wish

and there is no end to the greed.

I am a window without resolution,

a door impeded and without passage,

a slide that spirals down into infinity.

If I were nothing would you love me?

When I am called to action

I find myself a mitten instead of a boot.

Were I to crawl I might find my dignity,

the shards of an ego gone circumspect.

Why do you look at me that way?

I am not a plaything, a secret

willed into existence

by a disreputable muse.

You cannot strip me of my roots.

My curves have worn me down.

I am sparse, thin in inflation.

There is no use hiding my face

behind yours anymore,

no use at all.

Together our skeletons make a nest

but it is without warmth

that we lie frozen back to back

facing our respective walls.

I keep catching shrapnel.

The wars we carry inside of us

are so easily misplaced

and I am tired of being a mark.

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8 responses to “No Use

  1. When I am called to action
    I find myself a mitten instead of a boot.

    Ahhhhhhhhh fucking brilliant!

    You just totally have stripped it all down, and then looked at the pieces, and have picked up the select, choicest morsels, and served them up. In more than fine fashion. A meal you present that leaves me full and satisfied, and yet still hungry for the wealth, depth of emotion – soul food here.

    Amazing Yves!

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