it makes no sense
to this world
but it makes all the sense
to this connected soul
to want to join you
in the cave of Filippov
to free ourselves
to free the world
or seek our wisdom
as mute and painted dolls
of grand Marceau
with some kind of
agnostic psychomagic voodoo
like Bowie caked in white
and breaking glass
to prove we do not bleed

I don't need a lover
I've got nothing left to ask
of anyone
including me
I only want to share a breath
with one who understands
the thoughts my heart
can dream
and how she keeps me
wide awake for days
swimming in obscurities
of the fluid world
beyond the rigid walls
of tomorrow and yesterday
in the cabaret of intellect
of whores
for the lack of shame
these thoughts could care to have
and apologies that wouldn't matter anyhow

I can light my way
but for a moment
just be unrepentant by my side
for the feel to be
a band of thieves
stealing back our dreams
to feed the starved out
and alone
we who feast
the bread from corpses
because we've got the strength
to know
there is no sin
so you don't need
to feast from me
and I won't feast from you

we'll just transmute
to grow
stitching our wounds with poetry
and offering healing
disguised as show