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To Micah Ballard in San Francisco
by Geoffrey YoungI give away all that I am
frame moments that remain
rolled straight from brown eyes
I know charms turn the crowd to action
another silent chill says
alone is a way-station to form
how underrated we are
as a skull makes the oasis of a smile
cry out obsessive familiars
true love formulates hours of light
behold a blank regality
watching the day unfold
I am more myself today
when the body falls away
we are eaten by the fugue state
anything goes by saying yes
chronic dreams revisit the past
proper pleasures seed the head
if your love be not free
the depths look like shallows
there's a demand for the genius
of broken overtones
we must march to the beat
the one about self-exception
our ferocious dissidence and blazing
topicality, spectral cathedrals
using us for incense
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