Objective

He tells me that his mind does him in;

That he overthinks his thoughts and that they spin

Inside the skull and numb his touch until

His skin becomes cold from his within.

And he'll apologize, and cry and cry,

and I, I'll kiss his eyes.

The brain's a masochist that quietly entices

Each plume of though down an oblique tangent

Into grisly forests of the mind.

Behind my eyes lie trapped half-truths and truths

That stretch into gruesome hyperbole and lies;

They mask the retina and they fool the hand,

Thus blind, I cry.

And in my mouth apologies, like soap, like bile,

Foam forth in weak disguise.

I'm grateful: he reciprocates,

He'll kiss my eyes, 

They all will kiss my eyes,

And murmur wordless sounds of empathy

That move like animals along the spine.

Is this how it has always been, will be? Or

Will there be a time when I

Can stop a thought before its path divides,

And, like a smiling animal, fulfill myself by

Grinning at the eucalyptus tree, or lying in the sun?

(2007)