October 31st, 01.36am

I have been counting myself out
in twos, hoping to hit upon something
that divides me up between you with no
bias,
and yet what remains is my hands,
containing what I have and what I do not;

two fingers living somewhere they should not,
and two eyes looking at something they should not.


you see, it is all very well in principle-
your friends are your friends are your friends
are your friends
are not your lovers. Will not hold your hands
when they are empty

Will not close their eyes or say 'yes'.

Will not breathe quieter than this.

THEY MADE US EMPERORS

although there didn't seem much point-
we had already taken over.


we would go out and drink
and kill, and fuck
moaning with our eyes open
and laughing with our mouths shut.


we closed all the temples,
put all the priests in cages
and you rubbed your finger across my mouth
in front of them.


never mind the teeth we lost-
gums are better to spit with.

...

I refuse to write any more of those poems-
oh, you know the ones;
they speak openly of the forbidden, splayed-out
and dissected on my desk

they are dangerous, the ones that snap at me
in the night;
that catch on my strings and pull
and pull
until I choke.