if all art be twice removed

then let mine be thrice.
for inspiration, like a raw cicatrix now split
has been ripped, torn, like thin tights
to expose the crimson of creation,
and I, inclined to fall forward
have let it grip me tightly.
but if the rest is silence,
then let us crawl, leap, scratch, drag,
and let us dance.

our own flesh cannot bear
to be laden with secretive souls.
sweeter innocence of earthy emotion
we hide together in the dark,
we dream together,
dream of churches and stables
of grey light pouring on white walls,
we scream poems with a silent throat.
so let us twist, run, lift, roll,
and let us dance.

can we shed the ragged shroud?
the cloud of lethal indifference,
the lies, and the shadow of doubt?
they say to impart a secret
on the otherwise fastened ear
is to court the deathless knife,
and yet to walk together
empty-handed, but open-hearted.
so let us turn, fall, writhe, rise,
and let us dance.