epitaph

promise taints optimism

because some words were willed before my throat

before my stomach knew how to digest

a pregnant b aching in ascension

a long l which could be an i or an one or just a

line that draws me closer to you

if it were a bridge

though it is probably a lonely line that divides

for everyone who understands me is dead

in books where i came to read

don’t you know

that darkness is given a name

not nearest to a star

but tucked away from it in the possibility of two dimensions

don’t you know

that hate will give you pleasure of meaning and an opinion

on love

don’t you know

that time is never wasted

only we are

not knowing and not doing

and promising ourselves in our daily journals

that sum up every other day

as the records of tomorrow

against the mirror of today

inverted and indifferent

in the slight bend at the hips

which may be a dent

or just you

there again mouthing words

like a beaver against a tree

cutting yourself down into doubt

whether you aren’t sure

if you’re pronouncing them correctly

for they deaden you

as they breathe