Words are the blood
I’m trying so hard
to find something beautiful
to press upon my heart
and make
Real
searching with my back
folded ten hours a day,
forgetting the loveliness
in my own languid body
long and low
over ledgers
sheafed in manila.
Half my life
enfolded
by white office lights
ItypesomuchItype200wordsperminute.
Useless words
that hold no airiness
no space be tween
are the devotion,
and ichor of my self.
plus, minus, depreciation.
Cold, masturbatory memos
repetitiously empty
spilled upon the ground.
If I could write so easily
about the desperation I feel at sunset
his voluptuous lips shaping my name
the leaden pierce of being,
I would be electric
kinetic.
I would be
Genesis.