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sartre said consciousness
is negation
only frames things
it longs to
but can never

i am nothingness
longing for the solid rock
of being time
can never provide
but here here
i will let myself

(clay sand
fingers on stomachs
blind dancing
with false colors
flashing like leaves
against darkening walls
anger and tenderness
fingers on cheeks
broken persistent needing
music so violent alive
so easy to forget
like these
fingers on lips)

crying realizing
that i’ve cried all the same
all this time
that love is only giving
but i have nothing else to give
that i need forgiveness to love
but no one’s there to forgive me
in a more deeply sighing ocean
of a beauty i’ll never touch


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