Where will you search when you cannot find me?
The pieces that built me, lost to the waters
swiftly flowing changes, roiling from beneath
Where will I go when I have lost me?
I will find the opening to something greater
slowly escaping from between pearly gates
a throaty poissonous gas, curling upwards
sweetened by the pink meat of your mouth
drawing and seeking that moist air to mine
where will they go when they leave me?
Somewhere, just beyond my arms' extension
asphalt melts in piercing spring sunlight
and sucks at the rubber of their shoes
whimpering with me "oh please, don't go"
steps steps steps steps
a slurping time kept by their wingéd heels
Buddha follws in a pope-mobile
Smiles, and leads a caravan of martyrs
They lay hands on my forehead
assure me they love me, and that it'll be alright
They've saved a seat at the back for me

Falling, implosion, collapse
The Big Withdrawl, a stuttered inhalation-
We stone giants rest, while our coverings are ripped away
A coy belief and faith straddles your hips
your finely crafted tilted head hides your pain
They were deeper in your than me
How torn? Torn enough
Torn enough and together enough that I am fixing, I am fixing
Gently foled plastic and papers handled with great reverance
resonance inside your boy-man's room
covering one last bond, one last connection
I am building, I am building
Are you still questing? The questing Knight, his quested maiden
An exotic commogulate you never seem to find
Dusty, drying, inhale the ghosts of past seasons
drying bottoms up in the still-dead grass
(but it's growing, yes i'm growing)
Two thousand years, torn enough to find some similarity
A simpler way to want and wistful, weep
To be, to be, to be

In every end, lies curled and lurking, the hate
Every change is sunk and seeped with fear
In every end lies just beyond my reach a begining
Every change is painted with a brush of "nearly, nearly"
And every God that sises and falls, like every breath
that carves and hollows every breast
of every man, joins the caravan
Muscles harden under the bones of the earth
last filaments of a heavenly connestion
slow, rhythmic trances
doubts and indescions, lives that need revision
should any heaving breat decide to grant it-

I am the last piece of your puzzle-
-you are a bad movie late in the series

Where do you go when you leave me?
A stone now holds every soul that I own

Agis! Agis! Agis!
Stagnation draws my breath from my lungs
and crushes my love so that tears leak out
I never knew what Clark was on about--
Finis, Finis, Finis
Dying, I join the caravan
and Socrates holds my hand