oh

if there are hells, i know who will be there (all by themselves)
in whirlwinds of regrets or
still reveling in their harsh
behavior, hells of darkdeep

blooming desire
standing bent and writhing

prostrate, lying motionless

watching scenes unfold
past
closed eyes, which don’t protect from the fires
which don’t touch their faces, but
should, and bloom and
touch
everything as a shout
they are my nemeses,

(the types of people to darken
the entire room, performing

while no one makes a sound.



(modeled after E. E. Cummings’ Portraits 1)