[Nothing Can Express It]
Nothing can express it.
Which is, of course, why we try:
Barbed, manifold daisy-chained tubes more
Delicate than a man can imagine –
Forget molecules, forget the closeness,
The nothing between us, closeness
Like an asymptote, only growing closer
Closer, only getting as close
As lines ever get in the delicacy
And intimacy of equations –
The wings, hollow and filled
With the Van Gogh cerulean
Shell of the breathing earth,
Crushed: a red-breast struck but
Only almost killed and curbed
For everyone to look at and dissemble.
Standers-by are confronted, held by straining
Lapels, pulled face to face with the fragility of capillaries,
The longevity of pain, the thinness of human hair
Tenuous and untenable – we are all balding,
But when we pull it still always hurts,
Tearing only after it has stretched too deep,
And so we look away
Or stare because we cannot help ourselves
Because we cannot help ourselves.
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Stink Eye Magazine 