I.
we speak in partitives, and processions of time
but this is not a poem for rich, taut words

stretched

stretched

so tight tight fucking tight, over a bubble or a chair or a face
there is only one reality in the cresting of waves or lust or love,
and that is the third act


II.
I use the II to sum up a year of emotion;
writhing
proving
irrationality

quiet, quieter, there was time for hysterics,
plenty of time with clenched muscles
jaw
fist,
mouth
not to mention

oh, the organs!

be still.

III.
sublime caught a jolt, and then there was white,
cornered confrontation, it's SHE vs. SHE
only at the peak, past the hill in her head and the irascible pounding of folly folly fools HE will have had little to do with it in the end,
SHE vs. HE for the moment
life caught a break, and there was paraphrased paradise
too soon, it's PEEVISH EYES peeking peeking prod
WHITE hot hot hot
strike, child, OUT

arriving conclusions in their consistent constant order;
cannot, will not, should not, maybe not
white wipes you away, runs the ink off of paris books, kept so carefully
I arrive at white and white arrives at me,
and we say;

not one more night like this
not
one
not 1/2, 1/4,
or a testy decimal pardon me,
white and i feel the mood on our edge to shut doors close chapters and begin

white is my color and I am its,
and together

we are able to wash our hands of this