I heard her say: "The lights are a little out in my brain today."

You are exhausted, aggregate;
your mind is made of dunes and traffic.

The earth knew you once before:

an Egyptian noblewoman - your brain was removed, 

discarded, beside the painted canopic jars,
the mummified cats.

Your bulbs burn out because your brain 

remembers the ceremony, the shredding,
the brilliant lobes of you

irreverently dismembered. 

I find you beautiful and handsome.
I long for your metronome lungs,
your amethyst heart.

Long have I counted your worth.
We have found coins of comfort
we’d forgotten in an old coat pocket.

In love I am mostly helpless -
there is a rustling in the soles of my feet.
It keeps me awake. 

Sometimes I stumble over nothing. 

Sometimes we lie about anything.
We are demented and it is good. 

You do not mind - you want me.

I do not mind - I want you. 

Come, jump inside, climb in with the detritus.
I will hoard you until I can't anymore.

poem - February 2014