DECLARATION 2

There are these in the love, these objects:
a ball of wire stained with blood, now pretty,
now a safe object. And the silver shines
inappropriately, as if preparing itself
for a celebration of the life that coursed
painfully through it, the cells in its interior

and a sheaf of dark black papers
folded so many times their landscape
is a dueling pile of lines, while the faucet runs,

drunkenettes, and the self-stranger, in the floor,
re-constitutes himself for a final victory,
before the earth and the people in the earth
get tired of their solitudes.

For there are these in the love, these people;
these sucked through a burning forcefield
into a clamor of ultrawhite light, and hairless
on the otherside pursuing one another, mating
in stacks of hot grass.