stole off

you should see those symbols
dance
across
the
page
and those partners shuffling
in and out. they're lovers
locked in their
lunacy, who break their angles
in swift spirits
of dual misery
and the audacity of their crime.
the victim
i should know--
also shuffling, but
to a fro-- a miser
swifted with spirits
resembling
the density of an angular flux's
maniacal locking, itself
mistaken in its conflation
of its memory and the time.
separation knows little but its last seconds
well,
and even less to one side or the other--
as
old history comes to know its
limits and
beckons to mirrored images,
it searches for the certainty
it once held in
its visage.
so eternity does fade,
it thinks,
gone like a death unmade,
the last whisper of truth and
control
tickling my tympanum,
breathing its moist wish
along my ears and neck.
no more of my
dreams for its dissection--
the anatomy of my vision
unraveled
has dried up and cracked
in sickly lit motel beds.

i.m. cutting this place loose baby
i laid it on you straight, he said,
i cant hang when i got little time to be whiling away
for all these pretty
shapes. more of
that in the morning and other nights burnt slide--
more of that, tomorrow, would grab you more--
but these miles of rap can hold back the dawn, man.
you might but wear out your treads rolling it around the
block. it's a down square ball-all-night
beatin' up your chops kicking cans,
but nothing over
till you say it cold
to cut it some slack, jack.
ya dig?