Gainful purposes are cacti: Slow growth meets bloody handlers And as little water And as much light As can be remembered. So it hurts and crawls Am I there yet? Another line And another bind And yet another snap. I buried my heart In the marsh's creek And his teeth Were evident Between the dust and grass. Can't I mourn? Can't I forget? My target is a tattoo Whose verifier Will no longer check. Am I supple or a seed? A forest or the tree? Without an arc I slip off the sphere A tangent to that grave.