I would be like the flowers
on the farmer’s lawn, up
for anything – death, as if
it were nothing. There is
no pain that can’t be borne,
understood, but your suffering
falls for good; a swift blade
in the field.
I would be like the seeds
carried on the breeze of wings,
birds that fled
My love is repressed, and like my love I have repressed
my hatred. Alone at this time the light falls on you.
My tank is small, quick to fill. Call it incontinence
if you will, but lie you still, squirm. I am disturbed
by it all, but boy! will I burst my load on you!