ubiquitous things are delicious in the mouth (I love you, I want you, I need you)
iron thoughts of urbane/arcana prop me up
in the throb of space. compact actions aggrandise
run on, ducking and dodging life’s disinterested scorn
hard evenings, hard heat coming from your ailing body
but still, I fold your clothes. still, I forward your mail (a telesthesia)
nothing shifts this factor: you are a man I do not know
today I see no purchase to give to others
this is a biblical confusion, after folding your clothes or chatting
anything will ever touch me again, for I do not want to be touched
with grief sparkling your eyes, you issue the holophrase : help!
come gently, and lie beside me, improvise with the body
for unnamed blase rage – furtive battle – shadowboxing
eleanor j jackson 