5.

The naked woman, I recognize,
is merely a passage from a literature
book.

Libido, Libido! You are part of me.

From in between the dirt under your fingernails and
toenails, the gruff of your beard, and the
general stench of your apathy comes a
magnificent sign--

hope of existence.

My life is squandered, but I exist.
Your life is failing, but you exist.
We exist, and oxygen does not
discriminate--we both breathe it,
we both THRIVE by it.

I lean against the concrete wall after
the last train has gone by, and I think of
the periodic table (I learned that at
some point--I cherished it).

Let's say I'm nitrogen and you're carbon.
I supersede you.
Let's say I'm hydrogen, and you're, say, bromine.
I supersede you.

Let's say I'm everything you wanted to be,
and you're everything I wanted to be.
You supersede me.

The fourth rail rushes in suddenly--a cacophonous
battle between alloys and friction.
I plug my ears, nod at my half sandwich, and beg
for the Rapture.

Nothing surfaces.
I grow hungrier, and I look at the sky.
It's glowing periwinkle, and I can see myself
drifting among the constellations and various
celestial bodies.

I am there (and nothing else).
I am here (and nothing else).

I am.