as if my own voicecould return meto myself.

Is it giving up if you give what you have& the universe still fucks you

Done with the whole dark& the insect dirgeunder blue lit lamps. Done trying to rememberJune, first stars & Augustwhen I was Penelopewhen I was Eurydicewhen July was missing& I was my own dull shade.

I have just this one heart okay I was burned I was gaslit nearly to ash on the first tryFrom the start I was told I was a powerful speaker I was told when & how I should speakIt's true I made a feast of my own misery I invited everyone the whole gang

Don't tell me the sun is an exitthe sky is a clamp.

Compromised by longing & looking for languageto note the differences in the map: the pointed sprucestipped against the moon this time& the water halflit, star-slid—but it makes no differencein the telling.

I said I never want to survive that story again

What is this impulse in me to worship & crucifyanyone who leaves me—

I know what to dowith the dark.