have i wasted my words? i have sent them,
dear little packages, all aligned and tied up with blood
to your doorstep, penitent, obedient.
still no unification of soul.
express, express, lack of conversation, a sense
that satisfaction can never be homed here:
there's no place like a home that doesn't exist.
how many more times do i have to say it,
home is where you are,
my heart is where you are.

have i wasted my words? i have let you
dictate them, direct them, march them single-file
down to the firing squad of your discontent:
i have let you consume entire ideas,
sentence by sentence, the
heart of me, the blood, the flesh, the words.
dear little parasites, still trying to sting their way
into your heart.