i cant help but see your eyes
softly glistening in the moonlight,
running far from sheep, holding tight
upon my pillow running free
from your grasp and screaming

each day is wasted that i
don't solve the world's problems
up with a nice bow in the middle
of two longs strings, at the
vertex of four ninety degrees angles

floricide, vaticide, hopicide, and other epistemicides; or, the vole in our hearts

seated, ill-fated and faded,
spinning on top of a top
at the tip top of olympus mons,
swirling down to sewers,
wet, wild, thrown into the cellar
where charon beckons forever . . .
but we may yet scale the mariana trench,
out of the ocean and up onto land,
arriving, safe, sopping, sound

where i will parabolize your mouth,
upside then down;
i will bring your hunched shoulders
to the sun then to the soil;
i will emblazon your sky
until you stub me out
amid plates clashing
the range will form
our peaks hemispheres apart,
and i will terrify you


my heart is two sizes too big