It's not the energy reeling
nor the lines
in your face
nor the clouds
on the ceiling
nor the clouds
in space
It's not the phone
on the table
nor the bed
in the earth
nor the bed
in the stable
nor your stable words
It's not the formless being
nor the cry
in the air
nor the boy
I'm seeing
with her long
black hair
It's not the open weaving
nor the furnace glow
nor the blood
of you bleeding
as you try to let go
It's not the room
not beginning
not the crowd
not winning
not the planet
not spinning
not a ruse
not heat
not the fire
lapping up the creek
not food
not to eat
not the meat
of your thigh
nor your spine tattoo
nor your shimmery eye
nor the wet of the dew
It's not the warm illusion
nor the crack
in the plate
nor the breath
of confusion
nor the starkness
of slate
It's not the room
not beginning
not the crowd
not winning
not the planet
not spinning
not a ruse
not heat
not the fire
lapping up the creek
not food
not to eat
not what you
really wanted
nor the mess
in your purse
nor the bed
that is haunted
with the blanket
of thirst
It's not the hunger
revealing
nor the ricochet
in the cave
nor the hand
that is healing
nor the nameless grave
It's not the room
not beginning
not the crowd
not winning
not the planet
not spinning
not a ruse
not heat
not the fire
lapping up the creek
not food
not to eat
not to die
not dying
not to laugh
not lying
not the vacant
wilderness vying
not the room
not beginning
not the crowd
not winning
not the planet
not spinning