the immortal

Could I show you the apex of my soul?

The violence and the beginning?

Could I take those pretty things you say

and lock them away in my dirty heart?

could I write your songs on my skin

with the ink from my bones?

And would my love save you?

Would these long bitter wastelands

Dissipate beneath quicksands and funerals?

Could you tell me why I am not a locomotive?

Is it because the scars on my arms are

More numerous than the stars until you count them?

Would you let me drink you in deeply

And come up from drowning

Like some watery phoenix?

I hope you could.

I hope you could take me away

To some verbal escape of sexual beat poetry

And darkness and mistletoe.

I hope you can scream,

like a brutal lush, my name

through the halls of heaven.

I hope you will make me immortal.