Legacy


but your words are dull, cutting through a thin arrangement: i have used them myself
to slice through the cake.
there is nothing to love, so i do not follow any particular scripture, but have been blind enough
to listen to it as it was handed directly to my throat, coddling it.
milk that sits too long
will evaporate into thin air
the way the literature does
when the party disperses
and the conversation has dulled.
you
are a reoccurring phenomenon; a spectacle every quarter
in a handful of fours: i have held hundreds of them.
your particles of matter condense into thick, white light
that make a red tinge through the gaps of my fingers:
i see them as i glare through the openings and into the
divided distance
you come and you go;
the words lay still and impartial
naked and bare to the world:
whether you eat six slices or sixty
you are full from the first.