I wanted so much to love you
To hear your voice lullabying me to sleep
To tattoo your words across my ribs
To breathe easier knowing that you existed in the world
And be content
i went out to lie on the grass
tired of stone cities with their marble and smooth polish
tired of being
of thinking and not sleeping
and not able to see all the stars
the author is dead—thank God—
for she was not so good.
she was—they say—a product of her times,
a cold brief hand that went tick-tick-tick
as the hard metal gears bade her.
inexorable.
but that is no Excuse
for humanity (not for us).