Source: Unknown/Favim
From the start, I carried you
in my pocket and not in my heart. I want to forget that
my body is borrowed from dirt.
And heaven is no higher than my own library.
I realize I'm dreaming again but it's real: the lights
are getting weirder like a disco ball. I cut out
my heart with a dollar bill. Some unseen force pushes us
like carts across the supermarket parking lot.
I know what the steam rising from my tea means,
and the mingling plumes from two chimneys:
the body ruins everything. The stars are stuck in dark.
The moon becomes an inky green. In some dreams
you paint a self-portrait with your wings.
And the most beautiful thing you do is disappear
each time an hour turns into a year.
I'm looking for a god that comes like a rod
of lightning or a sudden airhorn,
a bee sting, anything other than the usual
bones beneath our scars.

~ C. Dylan Bassett

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