'nother poem

Engagement Rings

there is an outward sign that feels...
so very sign-like
arbitrary to a tee.
can such a thing be hurting This?
an arbitrary sign is never free
from That which called for an added signishness.
That is alive while the sign is not
it is That which will wash This under
like no sign could.
That makes nothing real without the sign
and so the sign which was not
substance becomes everything
the only thing.
and I am left with nothing real
without the sign
an army of That by its side...
...
there is no This without That.
it seems This is trapped
but much is owed to That.
and much is owed to That.
Even a sign (?)

I Melodramatic Poem I Wrote Today Thinking of the Desperation of Yesterday

Dying of Consumption

Give me something against which to rail with passion
anything but myself
Let me die, killed by another hand
anyone but myself
I cannot survive my own wrath and you will remember
everything but myself
You will never be alone, but I will be ever so by
Myself.