Poetry

Can you enlarge the moment, 
when the time stopped and 
you were trying to get a 
glimpse of beyond? 
 
You become a no-moment, a 
no-truth, in a sauteed 
orgasm. 
 
And someone plucks a death 
from your poems to 
resuscitate you, draped 
in tears. 
 
The track record will show, 
you were only yourself, 
and never became a riddle. 
 
Let go of me. It was only 
a happening, undoing the 
play, held in dark. As I 
cross the door, you become invisible.