For People That Bitch


(I don't care.)

I was a ghost's sunken chest,
a mute martyr, an aimless angel
without a holocaust to hover over.
There were dragged days and beaten minutes,
shaved heads of calculated seconds
and cold helpings of bludgeoned hopelessness.
I know of your lust for consciousness
to be a handed-over and down dream,
a prisoner's hollow dirge, a tunnel without vision.
I know of your need to have it so,
the way you waver in and out of lucidity
like a wasp, winging angrily
into what you never fully see the whole of...

and I know how to die in a moment -
mourning and collapsing into clarity simultaneously,
to live.