Wet Matches

my daily bread doesn't satisfy me anymore
the mocking silent moon that I pass the hours with
he won't choose sides
I am hungry for beauty, for a strange new love
that might cradle, might soothe and destroy
the panic that lodges
freezing me in hopeless Winter ruin

we would talk about how lucky we were to have met
talk about the heart, the whole madness that doesn't
quiet down or bed the damned tragedy that screams like a
sickness,
inner electrical currents flow
hope demands we break the darkness apart
until we find something that cultivates the existence
and wins the argument of love

somewhere in the Winter rain
I must mutilate my bearings that feel like
Earth and Hell renegotiated and formed an eclipse
beneath my feet
My dreaming feels uselessly whimsical
I must pass my time wisely to survive
and push toward the crystal light
that dismantles and settles this rumbling
resembling a street whore that's lost on East 14th Street
that doesn't exist anymore

I can't translate this desolate season like before
My matches are wet