Leaving

Oh and it feels eternal to be walking
In places that don’t change
In rooms that always have a name,
Call out my name, ashen walls

 

Bare and fading gray,
I am here.
I delight in the length of my scream piercing the satin night,
Or the precision of steel on milk-colored skin.

 

These are the same, the same themes.
I tell you that you cannot escape these patterns,
for everywhere you go,
It is the same masquerade between life and death.

 

A tension, a tension, I said.
A serenely tautening string,
Little by little- and snap:
We are here.

 

You seem to want to find a place
To make believe that paper dolls
Do not fade or burn
The negation of dust: yes, that is what we’re here for.

 

I am floating above the desert-city,
And I call out by face or by name,
To some semblance of a steadfast thing
To which to cling to

 

Fade or linger, death and life
Help me choose, help me reach a certainty
For which I alone am the master,
And I alone preside.

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