that is the point

characterizing my sins

by a multiplication of obsession, of observation

it is a brutal awakening

into a fingertip lunge, into

forward motion, motion blur into brevity

shortness of breath

is a shortness of the soul, or it is a sprawling extension

sprawling... sprawling out

inching across carpet to touch you

fingers sprawl too, they spread

like patti's: droop like lilacs

i want to touch that same inch of you

the rumbling of human being that

sinks and slurs, slurs and spits

and wants, wants, and wants on

beneath mountains more

what is more than that?