I have to halt, dig in my heels,
Knowing Time is no excuse—
There are still wires to cross
And organs to unlock.
The heart, perverted spleen,
And other curves of the life body.
Still I’m spiraling directly into you.
The action came first: all my words
Limped behind like a hooked fish.
I’ve coughed them up, they’re yours.
We don’t get along, me and the body.
I am its anesthesia; its will is my crutch.
All this Time, all of these raptured Wild Nights!
Too much, too much, and in time, not enough.
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