manifesto

(this is not the poem i wanted to write.
I wanted to write --
in beauty, like the night. To write such stars, such blue, such blue, such black -- vangogh swirls against the dying of the light. Such violin-thin wails to pierce your heart -- I wanted
you to read, and ache, and love

me -- Love
me, 
Love 
me --

Love me in stars pinned up against the night, me crucified

instead i find myself writing the same poem again, over and over,
as i might turn a pebble in my palm -- i murmur:

Terrible --
this world,
and beautiful --

and there are SOULS

--these little vast and heavy things:
they will, when you have forgotten that i writing, still
be,
their own small deep and lovely being)