The rumpled edges of my train pass
speaks of many voyages . .
the dirt that clings,
the smudges that blur,
and the shiny heart
that once embraced a
street light glow,
and amber lights
like quasi suns
with halos and darts
spattered bright
and lamentations of
semi-permanence . . . .
Inside of me is a hollow woman,
ravenous and filled with desire. . .
hungry for a universe,
longing for a world
that lights up beneath the song
of existence. . .
as nothing is much more than
a whisper in the wind
a teardrop in the rain;
I close my eyes
and there is the shadow of an
abyss and
nothing but the music
with an echoing refrain . . .
If all I have . . . is myself
without a heart
or an umbrella . . .
to ward off the storm . . .
of fire . . .
and if all I am
is the frame of myself
made of metal,
rusted and dented
yet seeking
the fragile. . .
If all I saw
was emptiness
and loneliness. . .
the world a whiteness,
no mountain peaks,
nor ocean depths . . .
If all I heard
was silence. . .
the whisper of nothing
I would never know
to say good-bye
I would never know
you
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