I am nothingbecause I want nothing.There is nothing I want.When I was in love, my lovebecame my sadness. When I was oblique, rock castagainst rock, my two eyes hung like pistolsaflame in a boundless void. I remember a shepherdsummoning me to the cliff, a trainthat left me stranded at the platform. For years, I watched,from an empty field, an empty river risingas an angel choked at the bank. I am the chorusand the choir, she screamed,the psalmist and the psalm. Though I waitedfor you, bright “I,”though I wait,when I jumped the turnstile                                                                                Awaken!at the gate, I could not hear you calling, I did notknow my fate. Had I known, then, that you were the rising waterand the fleeing hares, had I knownthat answering your prayerswas the answer to my prayersand that doubting itcould/wouldkill me, I could have been able to stopthe flood/would I have been able to stop?—smoke a fag, scratch the scab. I could not hear you calling,but I know it’s you who calls. I’ll find you                                                                                   Awaken!at the end of the line, where the glass orb spins foreverand the meadows twist like dogs. To write, I must open my eyes—                                                    To open your eyes, you must write!