You Are Going

Maddened by melancholy and I am
faulted because of your bitterness.
I make a sacrifice on the altar.

Come and commit with manacled
Hands to grope, strum, and hurt.
Say it.
You are going.
We grapple with time held in the clock.

Dancing in my distilled shrine,
You fault me for playing at the gate,
As you waft laughter
Through your unfinished lie.
Shining on the heights with drunken
Moons alter your reality.



~Jennifer