Saturn, it’s not you in there, is it?
My foolishness hid the splintered bone of a seamless mirage.
There’s no maturity in your gray aura,
You do not live, you watch memory in motion;
Surviving off of framed moments, only hunting the pose of the turned-up mouths
before they remove their lipstick and ties after a night out–
bare-bodied we all are, weaknesses glistening like sweat in the moonlight,
you, standing, squatting to an inch of a mile
abusing air, but never appreciating it.
Weak, you would seem, if I invited you to see
the desire of life I could introduce if you’d enter the depths of me,
a life unstill, that moves feverishly day and night,
Wrecked into truth, I am simply garnished with refined gloom
transparent symmetry of untuned worth,
that you portray as if you don’t want to hear it it tuned
yet, you do. your eyes say you do.