I am not a part of your dying,
pace yourself and BREATHE.
There is a blue place in the night
like a brown paper bag over my head.
Your kiss is like multiplication tables
and eight parts of speech.
Don't crowd me into your spine,
that heated pool is YOUR place of worship.
I am sleepwalking on your thin ice.
Keep your eye on the ball and BREATHE,
and don't COMBUST if you can keep from it.
The blue place is lit by candles, but they don't flicker,
they absolutely DO NOT go dancing, so why would I?
If i talked like GOD, who would know me?
Who would believe tha I am not SANE,
that I have squandered EONS on the likes of you,
paid DEARLY to be here watching you writhe,
just to put my nuts in THAT bag, that STUPID brown paper bag,
BREATHE,
BREATHE!
The blue place in the night in NOT my heart,
is not an echo or a reverberation.
You MADE it with your MOANING and your INDIFFERENCE
and your EAGER grimace.
Open the window an take it in,
and take the brown paper bag, too,
and see if you can feel me then,
and remember what if felt like
to touch air.
