PERFORMATIVE

PERFORMATIVE

the wind did not find
a door thought solid
much of a deterrence

simply carved its way
across the room

tornadoed about me
as if stairway-aspiring
to go spiral galaxy

was in no mind
to deliver blessings unless
shotgunned, scattered
in every direction
nailing you
nailing me
     the wounds and blood
fresh and sublimely
red as
   if sudden stigmata

and what
    might we do save
self-
submerge and drink it
all in eternal

moment of brutal
beauty so
      almost (nothing
closer)
   beyond everything