From among rampikes where I study ancient things,

I think I could reach up with my ponderosa arms and

pull down all the gods. I could bring them

here to earth, but people would only know them as

madness…

Know them in that same way that the

general population will always know

beauty and brilliance.

I’m society, some things are outside of it;

and gazes are always turned to those things

like the barrel of a gun. Scoffs are shot from

perfect, lipstick painted mouths like bullets.

But to be perfect is to have never burned.

Things that have not endured burning cannot

give light. And in the absence of light,

no one ever sees anything.

What I’m saying is, each person can set themselves afire in some way and endure –

can be stars speckled against darkness.

To be or not to be is a question of suicide,

but…