By Leah Bobet
11 June 2012
Through your changes. Through the sear
of smoky coal and burnt hair hold fast,
like a motherfucking fool. Hold fast
'cause it's your life, and as for me, as for me
—how could you dream I'd ever just leave you?
There's Hell in smallest places: in fine-grained pills,
in silences, in the cages of our heads, and Mister,
I have walked them; I've paced their dollhouse walls.
I've measured steps in hours and fought burred-up
bitter thoughts and these scarred arms, this scarred
heart does not send men to Hell.
(How dare you,
sweet child-rich Janet said, Tam straitjacket
in her arms. How dare you, as he twisted wild and burned.)
Hold fast, you fucking heartbreak; you hunched-down,
bleeding, broken, chivalrous ass. Hold yourself fast to me
with claws, fangs, hands, those surest hands; burn yourself
taut into my skin. Spare me nothing—
—and I'll hold fast
through your changes, through the failures. Through the
upward roads of Hell.
Don't you leave me. Don't you dare explode.