illusions

during the day they bind my hands to the railroad tracks
and leave me to contemplate the speed at which my skin
might part. these ligatures cut into the tattoos on my
wrists, where i once pressed them together over your
sleeping body with an adoration that stays with me even
as i wait for the field of my vision to be filled with
steel bearing down on me. at night i am unbound, and i
wander the banks of the river looking for the moon, but
i only ever find its reflection. i press my wrists
together on the riverbank, knowing what the next day
will bring: rails that appear to coalesce to a single
point of transcendence. but it is only an illusion.

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still, all water leads to the sea

flooding up to my forehead
where my third eye cries
the deluge of desire
the silt of stillness
in a place where the sun
hazes over and hides
pain pills, pain pulls
i am a swamp that swallows
memory that means nothing–
no, something–
no, everything.
give me meaning that matters
the gift of guilt
do you construe my confusion
as anything other than
what is already inside me?