Nathan AM Almeida

[26 September 2019]

Gears
ground to a halt, rods
newly rusted, twisting, bending,
maybe breaking, maybe
shearing, maybe sharing too
much for what little
we know, maybe pushing too much,
too hard, too soon, falling
victim to the endless
entropy and disintegration
of desire or loneliness or
not wanting to be alone at
some point in the future. This
is the test of mettle, the sublimation
of will and might and fright
and longing, the outwarding of
the inwardnesses distorted
by too many nights spent alone,
mind and heart left to roam
unchecked, collapsing the boundaries
between me and you and me
and the deep space between
the stars. This is the point of
fragmentation, of isolation:
the amalgamation of syntax and sympathy,
the castration of sight and sound,
the transformation of sense and solace
into him and flesh and the givenness
of longing.