A ax

A ax of sun splits the
earth begins to
breathe
Shaves my head, like the teenage monk I was. A ax
of earth splits the
heart begins to
breathe, teethe, hunger. Spring sun electric meat lines quiver.
I want love the way a grave wants a body. I want love the way a whale wants air. I want love because the sunlight seems to break my heart, the one I thought I no longer had. In the ugliness, the buildings that are revenges on hope, the crowds of humans made stupid & wanting it, the violence of the hard boot of money that kicks out windows overnight – In it – through it the spring sun light knows no obstacle, it is nothing and nothing to the simple celestial arc. I want love’s steamroller to roll me down, love’s violence to flay me without end, beginning & end both wiped dark & banished from knowing. Nothing I can do to stop it. I am the sledgehammer head & the stone being pulverized. My condemned building, my eyes on its roof, meets the wrecking ball as if it were a breast to suck.