Poetry Is a Medium

Because I love the you in our next deaths,
Because I rely on the you in next breaths,
I come complete with gravel bleeding—
With humanity screaming,
with each diamond scraped,
with emotion more draped.

Because I love the you in our next deaths,
Because I rely on the you in next breaths;

I have to change again, the rain pouring
Into the sun, steam flooding, scouring.

The medium is but a vehicle, if to give ink,
One note, pure silence, to escape the pain,
Bothered by existence, an axiom, one drink,
Growing in your eyes, trying to palm flame.

Because I love the you in our next deaths,
Because I rely on the you in next breaths;
Moving into motion, about greater cries,
Too much to break fantasy, too many eyes.

I can’t have what I want.
I can’t keep what I must destroy.
If given what I can’t contain,
If would hurt—it would break joy.