My heart aches to realize
what exists before I decided
my heart aches.
I am tired of me, oh so tired of me,
because I’ve tasted
what encompasses this tiredness.
Anything I say can be viewed from
the sky, the moon, the quivering earth.
What exists before the first word
keeps me awake at night.
(Keeps who awake at night?
Don’t fool yourself, you are
the kept, the awake, the night.)
Every time I say the word “I”
that which created the word “I”
Yet I claim the “I” again and again and yet again.
Where do you turn
when turning brings you back to where
where you never left,
where you grinned,
before your heart ached?
Defenseless, I reach for defenses
to avoid that which ultimately
encompasses your every thought,
your every assessment,
your clicking to the next moment,
your aching being beneath