Odd Future

Not at last, everything that is dead

Is yours

But yes, one wouldn't make it seem that way

While she sleeps, she is dead

Because she is yours

One thinks stealthily, isn't she here too

Dead in my arms

My arms must be her arms

The spring you stole into, clattering down

And broke such wonderful things for, the songs must die

It seemed one wanted to hear the dying of that which must die

Which were hiccups stolen from thoughts from slavery

You were always wearing.  No, and you were always wearing Difference

Which was to become the instrument of your truth

And yet it shouldn't quite be and now you're ready

Only that the sound of it was its breaking down

But if you had been honest

Then everything would sound different

From what you had said it was in the beginning

When it was winter, and the instrument of your truth was a ghost

For what great lives you would lead together, a grandeur of ghosts

To say the wind has stopped, at this point

Now all the past is different without having changed

Attire, as though one had been living in a blue house all this time

Only to start calling it yellow

And anything can be called something else

Except that these things preferred to be called very

By the ones who had been there when they were first seen

In the old way. And that that can't tolerate

The new way

As if all this hasn't been

And so places upon your head a crown of wanting

That which couldn't have been and is now coming true.

Who are you now that she is covering her face with a question

You who sits with a sly grin

Brimming with old misdeeds

That the things that had happened previously, to unknown people,

Found new people, through the long process of an error

And happened again. It takes a long time to say

Anything given that your time has been an exercise

In this confusion. But having been made a stranger of yourself

Do you seek refuge in others

Deadness that feels like they must be

In full armor. The stranded nights--and this will change your life now

Or what life you had led approached this error,

There were living people almost able to speak

And the self is cold, as a sky going by the window

In a curve, will seem cold.