fantasy

There are things we cannot control,
those thoughts when they roll on
like films, quick to latch
leaving grain and negatives of newer topography
the places visited stick,
regardless of our means of disposal
burn, shred, ignore,

there are things we cannot control,
like the change in the weather and the shadow
collector's corner, in vain you can try
to change the hour, the rays, the starts
of the current as it moves

there are things we cannot control.
like these thoughts heading north of earth
heading perhaps towards a body of imagined muscles
a body made by scents and old dreams
burnt-out at the end of ash-trays
thoughts that aim at a direction

the thought of you, now naked
in the dark of a room, glowing
with stardust, the thought of my head against
your skin. There are things we cannot control.

there are things we cannot control
like half-drunk poets
raving love letters to women long dead
and half sober poets
imagining the remaining creatures
alive and prospering
things uncontrolled create mountains
these become in time, silent volcanoes
burning