For Wanting To Write.... Poem by RIC BASTASA

perhaps, because of this
i may end up
with a head cut, or
a body shredded like
cheese,
tired limbs like
burnt toast,

perhaps because of that
i may not reach
what destination is reserved by
the lines of my palms,

perhaps i may not even end at
all,
because here you are
reading these lines
and you will like them

not because they are as palatable
as exotic friend frogs
but because you have felt sorrow
and have the smell of pain
the sound of acidic rain
over your hair
now melting and before you notice it
you too have become bald
because of having known much
than what is permitted by all these lines

it is about us,
it is about our being part of this vast
nothingness

sands of the desert
light of the moon spreading on sands of the desert nights
hushing wind
taking all the possible directions