I Told You I Was Sick

The innocents all dress the same Their mouths open Their mouths close They flush and bleed and wonder where they are Happy to be leaving Hesitant and unprepared for the departure when it comes to them like penicillin Are you pinching yourself? What I want and how I want it That is what they told me They were right Skin is just like fabric All violence is in defense of something I lay on my back and wish I do that now I wish for good things, all the good, good things Why not Fabric rolls out like a cloud of paint A moan into a square of gauze I don’t know and so I write about it I care about life and the ones who never say a thing We are in the hands of providence who is unqualified There are those who would protect us from the possibility of good