perfect protocol: how does it begin, where does it end?

1.


sometimes the silence is so
deadly
i can hardly remember the perfect
first line to my poem
and i fall into an inkwell of despair,
plunging into my own self-destruction,

Narcissus is heaven bound or moribund
i can not tell,

lost for 40 years
in the desert of my self-annihilation
just an ordinary inebriated besotted fool,
blinded by
my authority,
sighs of resignation travel lightly
over my reluctance, facets sharply cut,
shattered stained glass memorabilia,
pictorials
endless colours, krills of an ocean
I drink

scattered
into the
foursquare chapel of my elongated loneliness,
a beached whale of an image

i have become my own executioner
killing myself with the sunrise
that appears unbidden to worship
and save the world from my tangled,
mangled need to be a reluctant messiah,
an artist of
perfection,

delving
into the indigo, a Krishna blue,
dripping
into wild plum blossoms
into the psalms of Leonard Cohen

and i remember, i am saved

i'm not here for my judgment
nor yours,
i'm here to love without recourse
my symbiosis a new leaf unfurling
at the speed of light,
an offering
to you, my enemy mine, my beloved stranger

where is the doubt that could not love?

2.

if i touch you now
my fingers will grow wings
or perhaps oranges