don't want days

it was hearing the same endless blood-red storm of ribs 
it was the flesh sounding the full moon fiddle    loudly weeping
it was weeping a river of long-sighted glasses    mourning
witnessing its own pitch-dark back    in    another now

                                       don't want days that represent ends

hospital's white snow    ignoring a ray of light's refusal    carries on the surgery
five-finger tower    combed through a million babies' white hair that called for help 
this winter in agony    draws a profile of frozen passion
I live in the body of that man called father

                                       don't need what death once strongly demanded 

it was    a furiously stamping calf squeezed into another man's belly
it was eliminating warm distance on the last delivery bed