love will hold you

and here we see a madman
with a ramrod wedged between his shoulder blades
sitting in the corner
at the worst party the universe has ever seen --
there are bright lights and plentiful colors
but no people --
he twirls stardust
from his fingertips
and waves at midnight
when she passes by
he is the kind of man
that marvels at the scabs on his fingers
because he has no idea how they got there
he is the kind of man
whose bent back and
shambling stride are only mistaken
for odd quirks
by fools;
fools who have never seen
a bare spine, devoid of flesh and nerve endings;
fools who do not know
what timeless agony looks like;
fools who read books
all the way to the very last page
people have asked him
why he is always running,
and he will smile the smile
of the brokenhearted and say
"i don't run anymore"
he was the man
with five decks of cards
hidden in his pockets and up his sleeves,
but the stars were never
a place for solitaire
the rules he disregarded
broke a column of stone
across his back and hissed
stand up straight, son in his ear
and the cards slipped from his fingers,
fluttering like pigeons
to the grass
the queen of hearts landed face up
and glared at him as he walked
away,
the hands emerging from his sleeves
clenched into fists,
and the sparks that once flew
from his eyes now leaking
down his cheeks
the like the angels' cold fingers