i am so scared
because i am locked
in this pocket of space
and when i touch my hands to the glass
i will push but i cannot get it to go outward
it just comes inward
the goosebumps are rising on my neck
and there is nothing that i can do

i've figured the way best to cope
is to never think of ends
not of beginnings
like the longest possible extension of living
in the moment
because otherwise it is all too painful
i don't understand
and i don't want to think about it
and you can reconcile future and memories
but i do not want you to be a memory
(even in those times of
slightly psychopathic needs for pain
and drama, the selfish wanderings of an
empty mind)
i do not want the time to come
when i cannot ride up to your home in a rattling
subway car
and crawl into your bed