Meditations on two titles I wish I had come up with

The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Visions come
of breath applied to form –
swarm soft towards night –
warm, light –

disassembling
what is left
into a mist, eviscerating
into something blessed,

the best phantasmal death –
the dust – at last –
of that disintegrating figure
of the man you never knew

if you had wanted
or had wanted to become –
blown mercifully into
dissociation:

suture, tendon, bone
atomizing: future, past
drying up,
numb as ash.

+

The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner

Hopelessly
addicted
to the dawn.
Long gone.

.