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the last poem:
Shiva's dance


i keep using the word "last"
the last time
the last second
the last thought
the last lie
the very last
no the very last, really
no the last after last
no the lastest
a barren echo
and all i know is
it has no meaning
it almost mocks me
my impotent declaration
any strength it once held
now drips out like oil
constant
i stop
and all i see is
sometimes "last" will not exist
i read you my last poems
you didn't know i write
and you liked them
and you laughed
listened
it didn't make them better
it created another poem entirely

do you write poems
Shiva


unrelenting fireworks
of the past present future
all changing
and shifting face
replacing my neurons
my truth is not my truth
it stands as a stranger
my truth is just as true as the word "last"


sometimes i actually feel
like I really am Shiva
dancing
annihilation in one eye
and birth
in the other


i mean
nothing has changed.
apart from
everything that once was, is no longer
polarities shaking hands
they seem amused


and this is where the first summer sunrises
find
me
as unravelled
as i am whole


Shiva
how do you still dance
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