In getting to the bottom
of a bottomless emotional mess,
I found in you the red,
the mess of flesh.
I’m sorry;
I tried love,
I didn’t understand the word.
I don’t understand the world.
It didn’t fit.
I picked up the scissors
and I cut my way in.
The geysers and
jutting bone precipice
are beautiful in the sun light
and telephoto lens
in panorama
shed of shadow
Soul light flourishes.
Flowering auras spread away
from your cradled head,
the smashed glass windows
flecked with gold, bulging red.
I found your heart,
in all I ever asked for
YOU ARE READING
She, Infinity
PoetryI mean to place sight within the constraints of sound and drive it into the bed rock, the foundation of feeling, literally rather than metaphorically.
