Men in season

Your beauty
makes me so
desperate. I don’t wish

to look at you
anymore, I wish
to escape. Whenever

I look at
the Isle of Dogs
from my bedroom window

I yearn
to wrap
all my legs

and their
until then
meaninglessness

around
the Isle of Dogs. Look at you
instead? and experience

all my nectarines
tear through
my forehead

skin ?
as they blossom
in tandem? from

inside
my brain? into
the outside

world? Bloom
Spring seasons inside of me,
I need to feel like a real man.

Lie beside me
as we count
the aeroplanes

descending
towards
Gatwick.

Nullified by love

Beings are being
born, constantly,
beginning their
journeys,
to becoming.

Moments are
born,
and you and I,
you a writer,
I a reader,

on either
side
of a page,
to each our
own perhaps cage

to which we
nonetheless
hold the key.
One of us has to be
more sensitive

than the other,
it is
supposed, for the
chain to keep
flowing, throwing itself

outward, a
rattle, the
sound of rain,
foxes mating
at dawn,

lawns covered
with ravens,

And branches covered
with chickadees,

singing
their morning song.

Beings are being born,
beginning their journeys,

to becoming. They begin
in company, and then end up

in loneliness,
and then
in company,
and then
again in loneliness,

Until we discover
that the meaning of life
is sacrifice, who or what
you choose to sacrifice

yourself for, because you
cannot be anyone
or anything unless
you are nullified by love.