Find me
Find me.
Somewhere between the midnight myth
and the brick-lined bastard city,
in the core of the apple
in the core of sunken earth.
Find me with the dirt on your face
dirt in your eyes, don’t grasp, don’t brace.
For I have laid my hands on the emptiness,
the emptiness of it all, there is only
the emptiness of it all.
That which is that, which is empty.
I witness my own effacement
in my own effacing memories.
Don’t think for a second they don’t remember —
the shadows in the cave remember it all.
They know the thing that was lost
they know your mourning calls.
The shadow people in the morning
the shadow people died and falling
and the Light cursed them all.
I know but what I forget.
What was given in giving
I have taken, took and taking.
The plummeting market and the plummeting bodies
all look like snow.
Somewhere above regret’s dying bones
hastily buried, reaching, there I lay.
Rapacious, rotten, reluctant
pry open the fists that clutch at nothing.
Nails bit to an inch of life
nailing down the coffin flapping
sometimes happy in the wind.
But if there is a name I have not known it,
if there is a home I have not loved it.
Could I tell you I love you?
If there is a language I cannot utter it
the tongue traps itself in metaphors
emblematic, problematic, romantic
(and the poets say nothing at all).
Swirl around in circles there
there, into the whirlpool
I am happy there.
So find me, find me, find me,
and bury me there.
