Let's Talk About Desire
The way lust can be the taught veins of a marionette
and love the sharp end of a war rifle.
Dance drunkenly shake and glide across the floor
or puncture and seep
leak black and white
a broken balance draining through a lattice bandage.
Be plastic, or become plastic
the element of all matter, yet nothing
but a fuck,
or a cluster of grey knealt to the ground
trying to piece something together
but the strings are so thin they can hardly be seen.
The bayonet is too far out of reach
and the hands of desire were merely a feather,
floating far from the wrist.