Wind tears the flesh like a thought
And the face reveals still of a song
In futile search of the dawn in a dream
Disappearing and coming back redeemed
I have neither pleasure nor pain
In this warmth of a well heated room
Rummaging in soul digging up something
That ought to have lain there unnoticed
Shapen heart of quiet rage
Its hundred mouths open and two eyes closed
Hiding name under the tongue
Growing inward and becoming blood
A lottery of tragedies
In a series of near-escapes
Still the core of me is untouched
Your tears into my eyes
Until we finally know