You want it darker. You want
to melt clocks and turn the cogs
into a red clay sculpture because you can.
You want it darker because you're just a man
being a lady, or a girl being a man. you madman you,
you little clock boy who loves her collarbones but hates his legs.
You want it darker, you. You draw
the curtains knowing it will draw your eyes
shut. You want it darker yet you love the sunset,
and the sunrise but you can't wake up. Because you
want it darker, you child of time, you lamb of God, you restless
oak leaf you glass eye you peach soap bubble you broken record you.
You want it darker. You want
to be seen without light through a
kaleidoscope that will show all your faces,
you unassuming museum exhibit (the only real one left)
reflecting the fragile firmness of the sun's passage through the
galaxy that can only be misunderstood because no one can understand
a glass box on fire. But you know
what it means. You want it darker. You wait
for someone to open the box end set the entire
exhibition ablaze so that we can all finally die and then
the fire can truly be extinguished as it kills itself from eating
itself to death and finally finally finally it will all be darker just as you wan-
