prod my skull into a blunder,
dulling it with a pillow
until it shrieks under the bury
of wreckless attempts;
your attempts to silence a pan-dimensional beam,
a subliminal fury born within you,
a subliminal winking, twinging control.
* * *
through the forked paths to the enclave of your genius
is where I want to be.
am I lukewarm?
am I cold?
am I hot?
I am elbowing you to let me feel
the twang of your catharsis,
to cup the ballast of your thoughts
drink it up.