Untitled

it occurs to me in hesitation

that the circle spins forever

something about an exit seems so

unbroken so deep so explosive

and we are only at the window

cheeks pressed against the glass

in wait for this freedom so

pale so tired so unsatisfying

when everything seems empty

and the mirror draws blood

I am lost in these mental boxes

the labyrinth of dull desire

and I am with you on this gentle slope

the slow motion of small disaster

this is only a physical distance

remember that we smile at the same sun

there is no peace here that I did not

raise from chaos I imagine

it is the same for you