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Description
When he hurt you,
Fall was ending.
That Fall---
the one that reduced you to tears
and life-long fantasies of happiness.
That Fall---
when you saw snow and dogs
and thought about life and home
and friendship and love
and loss and lust.
When he hurt you,
you were getting high on revolving doors.
And the boiling oceans flooded your city;
and the bleeding rivers spit you out
onto the train tracks that sparked
with charge so you could take out
the endless stream of infinite---
When he hurt you,
Fall decided not to come,
and you decided not to come.
Spring was almost there,
laden with the morning dew
that doesn't exist in your city.
But the sweaty nights of summer
interrupted the blooming flowers
and reminded you that Fall was impatient,
that Fall---
when 5 became 3 became one,
and he said he liked that about you
and ruined you.
That Fall---
when the circle spun round and round
with infinite possibilities
and endless outcomes.
When the lighthouses used their beams of light
to do nothing but confuse you;
you wanted to know more,
to know why the circle kept spinning
and how to break it.
So smother it in its crib, he says.
Break out of the hazy dream
that is your memory and build anew---
or smother it in its crib.
Battle the endless Fall
that has been and singing your story with didactic words
and mutating your limbs
and charging your hands
and shaping your mythology
and cycling over and over again
until crying in your crib is no longer an option
and the tantalizing messages
of one far too eager to please
himself make you shudder with fury.
Be angry at the system that
ignored your pleas for help
and said "It's okay.
Everything happens for a reason.
It is all a test."
Is that was R. Lutece said
when the crib was stolen?
Is that what the Lamb said
when her Shepherd crawled through the miserable streets
and wondered why sixty years
felt like six minutes?
That's what he said
when Fall was ending
and you decided not to come.
You told him you did,
but then patiently closed your eyes in sleep,
content with the satisfaction of another.
Then he hurt you
and Fall was over,
and you opened your eyes to a circle
that could only be broken
by your own charged hands
and by your own didactic story
and the feeling that you can escape
in voilent mind of the circle itself.
He hurt you
and Spring began.

Description
When he hurt you,
Fall was ending.
That Fall---
the one that reduced you to tears
and life-long fantasies of happiness.
That Fall---
when you saw snow and dogs
and thought about life and home
and friendship and love
and loss and lust.
When he hurt you,
you were getting high on revolving doors.
And the boiling oceans flooded your city;
and the bleeding rivers spit you out
onto the train tracks that sparked
with charge so you could take out
the endless stream of infinite---
When he hurt you,
Fall decided not to come,
and you decided not to come.
Spring was almost there,
laden with the morning dew
that doesn't exist in your city.
But the sweaty nights of summer
interrupted the blooming flowers
and reminded you that Fall was impatient,
that Fall---
when 5 became 3 became one,
and he said he liked that about you
and ruined you.
That Fall---
when the circle spun round and round
with infinite possibilities
and endless outcomes.
When the lighthouses used their beams of light
to do nothing but confuse you;
you wanted to know more,
to know why the circle kept spinning
and how to break it.
So smother it in its crib, he says.
Break out of the hazy dream
that is your memory and build anew---
or smother it in its crib.
Battle the endless Fall
that has been and singing your story with didactic words
and mutating your limbs
and charging your hands
and shaping your mythology
and cycling over and over again
until crying in your crib is no longer an option
and the tantalizing messages
of one far too eager to please
himself make you shudder with fury.
Be angry at the system that
ignored your pleas for help
and said "It's okay.
Everything happens for a reason.
It is all a test."
Is that was R. Lutece said
when the crib was stolen?
Is that what the Lamb said
when her Shepherd crawled through the miserable streets
and wondered why sixty years
felt like six minutes?
That's what he said
when Fall was ending
and you decided not to come.
You told him you did,
but then patiently closed your eyes in sleep,
content with the satisfaction of another.
Then he hurt you
and Fall was over,
and you opened your eyes to a circle
that could only be broken
by your own charged hands
and by your own didactic story
and the feeling that you can escape
in voilent mind of the circle itself.
He hurt you
and Spring began.