Poem for Amy

happy endings are the beginnings of tragedies
i don't own the password to your numerous accounts of my trust
but if they ever try to frame you, use a parable in your defense
it will see you through the ages.

and this she said was her house
also a sacred chamber and a spaceship
she told me about her affiliation with higher beings
she is the type to tell a stranger to call his mother
she is the type to speak to a tree
she is not crazy.

she also speaks to me:

i am not true in the tongue i stole from Saturn
i am mislead in the wisdom i formed into an oasis
i dilute the lives of others and drink their stories
trying to find my way out of the piano

i play the irrefutable blur
for 12 bars without thinking
i make the windows bleed violins
the strings snap and hiss..
yet i trust their distance

there's something violent in the way she strokes me
there's something romantic in the way i bleed
there's something difficult in the way i leave
it's a lie
i have not left, for six reasons:
four seasons sun and moon

passion running laps around her diaphragm ---
what she inhales wants it's own religion
her back is against the background
ruthless is her spirit
it ties me down to tell me the time
at all times
then it tells me i know not the time
or the hour

these things slip away from me
as i grab along the darkness
which constitues
as all of existence
before it was formed.