The Thirst

Wherever the flag

Will be planted

I want to

Go there and be

Still, write until

The work I haven’t done is

Bested by time

Invested and what’s made is

Greeted by raves.

I want to

Paint until

The brush is softly frayed

Its point ever finer

As it drops hair by hair

A finer point like when

My own edge was

Sharpened from breaking

Possessed by waking

Roving cinema dreams.

I want to

Love myself ragged

Throwing my body into

The pyre of my other

Giving giving until

From giving I fall

Down dead spent.