nominative and objective

If you think all the you's are you you're wrong

If you think all the I's are unadulterated they're not

In the soft animal body of this poetry I'm hiding
everykind of longing and revelation

But now the lost Rosetta leaves pale & academic
scrabblings, and the sands are coming in

Heaven forbid we talk, that'd be...revealing

I've worked it out - you're afraid of a hole in the logic of
your absence?...or that all that's here on offer are recriminations &
mad demands for closure and truth - like they were
yours to give

I said I missed you yesterday, low and bouncing
but it was in the middle of a dance
floor and I (or the MDMA, you decide) seemed to feel
that dancing and that dj and that I were destined for higher
nitrates, a burst in the night

Don't believe the hype that there's a complete set of lives here, hidden -
under the bed is nothing more than a tent of doonas and the weird
round hope that I still could, if wanted, walk right round
and sit, nearer you

That was a you you, you see...