i sound
my
note, playing
sweet and
low on my
pipes
of reed
while she
wails about
the
mountain-top.
yellow eyes dressed up, asked me twice for two queens. compared our thighs in the shower, but hers were more like wrists decorated in scars & sepia coloured burns. the girl asked to come over & visit me, beg me for a kiss & i punished myself by saying yes. & i lost my thoughts again; i'm feeling i might find them trapped, lurking under iron rods. & all this retching bile puddled up between my tongue & my teeth, slipping from spiced lips & staining my shirt & pillow, dripping on my toes. i wanted to cry & run, but all i managed were some slow soft moaning sighs. prayed she wouldn't hear me. i pled with god to have her look the other way. but she took my hand & led me to the yard. we burned last year. we burned the beast & all the dread hollowed in my chest away & branded instead little stars & hearts. i took her words & wrote them in my hands. i begged myself to stand while my ankles bled & cracked, but when i wave goodbye the crowds will see my heart.
pillow talk from a mile away is better than holding on to syrinx & meaning drifing into stale black air. all i am is pan, i will spend forever chasing ekho until thamus cries across the rolling ocean--the cry "great pan is dead."
