Was it a mirage of innocence
in the age of push ups of a
violent surrealism?
I was wary of the repeat
acid horrors. They come back
again and again.

I want to get an abili by
sitting between the sunset
and moonrise. The wounds-
refuse to heal up and I
will not lament the disfigurement
of a verse by scars.

I want to say I like you yet
I will not be able to tell-
for want of a book
which remained incomplete within
its mask and pronounced words
as soft as feathers.