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Description
the sky is feeling down
your lover's legs; it is blue,
gloomy and glum and having
an off day.

listen to me. we, either we
see what we want to
see, or we see what we
do not want to see,
or we see what there
is to see, and we are
going blind in any case,
must be cataracts or glaucoma
or some other such physical
rational disease.

beat

we are lying in bed
together, you and
i, lying in the grassy
fields enchanted by the
sky. i say, look at the
sky, is it not lonely
today, and you laugh -
honey, you reply, the sky
is not alive and can
only be personified regally
and perfectly, as it really
is.
i run a dew-soaked hand
through your dew-soaked hair
and know that you are
wrong because i understand
the sky better than you
can, it is not perfect
and nothing ever is.

and you, you slip your fingers
into my hand, whisper look
what i gave you, i turn around
and see the sun in all its
blazing glory but i feel
it is suffering too and i
ask what is wrong and it
says it is ugly and un
loved and needs to lose
weight because maybe
if it were less fat and round
and imposing maybe
it would be happy

and my hands trembled,
you told me to breathe
- and my hands they
tremble, you tell
me to breathe and i
stutter the sun
has no skeleton if it
starves it will truly fade
away,

and you don't understand,
you know we can't live
without the sun but you can't
see the sun can't live
without itself and i can't
explain

because my eyes are open wide
but they were burned
by the sun

and i can no longer
see.