it's already happened

how long will i prop up this poisoned messiah,
squeeze false atmosphere
from these heavy lungs?

i want to get up
now,
drive one thousand miles
to the cauldron's teaming lip
and perform last rites by the roadside.

i see myself
as a diver
a bullet
hurtling faster than your voice
from this dimension of accidents.

if i am an interruption in the blessedness,
a scarry mandala
broken off
concentric bones  
in a blunder of motion,

if i am (to be) a curse
that hangs from your sternum spike

then i will grant you
sweet asylum.

goodbye.