What Cannot Be But Fear

*to craig*

oh, the inane wrestling with
the fact of excrement,
the stupor of fate.
Away, away, O unhallowed ones!

yet, thus it goes
this mournful peace, and it hurts so much
Debilitation. and it rests dyed into
this sundry tapestry, tattered kinship and death

an emboldened confidence, giving way,
to be silent
daring to be lonely, but
to suffer not alone

daring to be rendered Speechless.
How the 'meant to be' or
'will' or 'way' may or might
just be another lame, void, easy

Determination. ah, human sympathy,
with truth can also be suspect;
how it often is only curiosity.
How dare you venture into a sufferer's secret;

how dare you urge...
or speculate, or 'try,' or pray for me with words
and intonation. Let your intonations be not heard,
but felt. Let your prayers be suffered, not satisfied.

this inclination toward loyalty, this
affinity to my emotions, this sympathy...
do not labor against me.
wasted sentiment. speak to me,

to see my face, my eyes.
come to me not to feed
but to hunger and then eat, not to pour water
but to thirst and then drink, not to dare to sagacity,

but to suffer and bore and then relish all.
To relish All: doleful beauty. to live, To dance!
Come here to dine: a cup of indecision
a portion of scrupulous quiet confusion

for to lift an ounce of bitterish habitual indomitable
Despair into simple steeping sordid
Joy! ...Yet I say "Away!"
Away to the deceptive charming inventive

subtleties. that separate you from me. from him.
It fashions and indicates, this chasmic abyss,
the Actor and the Poet.
The actor and The poet.

Come here. Come toward me. Where is my embrace?
Where is my beauty?
a grief to serve every dreaded ounce of what
cannot be but fear,

does it speak, this hope? or to feign,
to accost, to become some dashing dreaded
Accoutrement, or unending desire,
which is to Fathom forevermore?