poem to be read with Chanel fashion show 3

After M.C. Creeley’s anger

Is it your anger,
then, the one you’ve
made us listen to, not
one involved, whose
face if not the cry
or close breathing, what
you give to the world.
Which sun was wrong
to come on? Love, no
not the way you’ve said
it, meant it and made familiar
for the rest of us to save,
a clutter of not enough.
Something I know
is black, the pit
not wanting to
be pulled in; it cannot
pull an expression
double or split.
You say who did what,
not a rage, but
one done to be wrote,
I do not see the cry;
the self sight which
returns, not giving
but what life
was it we were
talking about;
It’s true that
all I say I want
to do to myself,
I do to others,
when you face me
as a floor, as a hole
in the wall.