my way or the high way

cause imma kick your ass so high you fly to the cheena sky where they scream in conversations full of mirth.

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
:ee cummings

at the end of the day, i am most furious with myself
and the poetry of poetry immobilises each tendril
of fear that hairline of queer
wistfulness, teasing wilfulness
so all is silent. thus all is clear