The peacock and the bear

The buildings are square and make me think of
cartoons that loop in airport lobbies the magic hour of glass and
the slick show o.  Best not to breathe in all of this
at once giant robots crushed into the snow of mirror flakes and water, heavy water
the stars are cold , the sound they should make is like one of pills being dropped onto the surface of the dance floor long  after the last remnants of party
and beer mud have scraped away.  led solemnly into the trial of people who do not want it thus.
  I cannot kiss you, you slip between my hands, if you did not i
could not suck the sour taste of your being alive. being three dimensional is a crime
having ever cried out in pain or loss or confused joy is a crime
the grease of human love and wanting are crimes that
should be avenged just out of sight and with absolute wrenching violence
  beneath these buildings and under the whorish lights there is no room
  for doubt, for the breathless space of waiting to be kissed
of staring at the thorns of being wanted
 no the circle of lights and beyond it the river in her
            concrete coffin are free of rust and weeping
my avatar is silenced
and there is no way to learn this lesson again.