Edges

The space
without meaningful edges
dissolving from my edges
out beyond myself
the deep silence beneath
the shouting
the jumping
the argue
eyebrows
around the edges late
out corners
no appointment
running
this 'to be'
we have running from
arms of lovers
hope and regret
poverty of accomplishment

The Door

I'm quiet like a cigarette
The door a rap within its frame
Against the weighted wind that plays
Beneath my bare misshapen name.

Aiming at what I think is true
I'll miss the mark of solid place
And break apart from edges out
Collapse the noise of human taste.

And you
Remain
A fix, a hat
Upon
A hook
Until at last
The door
The frame
The good
Bye shrug
Accepts
The wind
But not
The past.