4

the moon goes reluctantly into business, it's a hard world. there's a huddle in all the places where the light was lost. it's bad, it fails us, it fails the moon, but the future is an unknown slice in the current so eye to the shore. for now, all bathrooms lock only from the outside, we are embedded with wrongness while drawing yet more beautiful circles. we count on us. we number what hurts us, it's a cubby system, and when everything's stored we locate our sweetness, pour it into the collective center. it's grownup Halloween, let's swap soothings, everyone's candy center. let's go to the collective fairgrounds, we've already designed them with our tongues and all that's left is to spit. the knot in me stays a knot, doesn't undo and doesn't do anything else. i can only play ease in someone else's band. i cramp like a cymbal but no sound. the walk out is counting to other people's fives, the only time this keeps is hearttime.
                                                                 i am precisely in my quick undoing
                        and it makes me know the tilt of planetary center better. the future bends down a branch sometimes, heavy fruit for fast acting. something's always going to drip so disappear your fingers where the flesh is dissolving. you'll get to the ridge of the pit, hungry or not. gawd made the peach in making desire, this is reaching's lesson. you can be as tender as you want to be, claw out the dirt from your crooks. you can be as tender as you want to be, that map doesn't need folding. you can tender your resignation from the machine to mind your mettle. some whirring never goes. sometimes i set you down so my hands are free, i use them to keep my face steady while i'm weeping. you can be as tender as you want to be.