There, A Glass Bullet

There is a place in which I am from, a place beyond the hill,
a place where broken bone and flesh is mended.
I hail from the soft  songs of desire that conspire to end,
a place where broken bone will bend,
and skin and flesh will try to mend.
From words I come, the ones that tried to speak,
that tried to fly, but couldn't leap.
There is a time in which I hail, a time of three thirds.
There was a time where I felt whole,
when I knew when the bullets hit me and where they dug their burrows.
I thought  could speak without being pierced.
I knew I could speak, but my voice did not fill my ears.
There was a time when I hated this temple.
And this temple still stands
when the water is deep and the sun emits its heat.
I tell you the truth, I knew you pulled the trigger.
I knew the bullet didn't hit me, but I still withered.
I wish I didn't. I wish stood still.
Stand where you stand and fire at will.
I could pull the trigger. I can go flesh deep.
I think I can pull the trigger. I think I can go to sleep.
There was never a time when I could keep awake.
 I could never drive, nor fly, out of sleepy state.


One warm Thursday,
when God feels so benevolent,
will you feel so violent
to cripple me ambivalent
and to ask  in the violet hour?
As the sun s setting,
as it crawls off your face,
will I see?
Will I see?
the desire burning underneath,
the fiery joy that I buried
at what I thought was six feet?
And when your face is buried underneath mine,
two years toward east,
one step north, thirteen steps west,
cross your heart,
"X" marks the chest.
Will I see?
Will I see?

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