Six

The masquerade of nativity—figuring out identity
I stumbled into the desert
j u m p i n g cactus atop
sun. burnt. skin.
There is no self in the city
no water in sand dunes
It was a mirage that I knew you
a visage of solitude
What am I to you?

The disco ball keeps spinning
Reflecting fragments of me
and the moon is tiring
waves of nausea hit me

Crying on Halloween
to some off beat tune
Waiting until it is I
who can be beat off too

Hold my hand like when we used to dance
A fragile embrace / An appreciation of space
The bodies we inhabit,
the planet of the damnéd.