in her inner ears i've whispered much,
  that she, for some reason, only her hears.
   these breasts to breasts, these heart to hearts
    have shrunk space all downy to a dot
     and dotted time's eye with a fly speck.

 As i read back over NextameShe Lies,
  i realized that the person it resembled most
   is my dear ex. Well the only real person.
 But nextathat, it is a powerful metaphor,
  if you'll listen to my ego swell,
   of what happens to me, and i suppose most other myst ones toos,
    as nirvana raises What Nerve! into an artform, deformed.
 There's part a me sucked up the rope to God,
  as if He were slurping a spaghetti strand,
   and me a stain of sauciness at its end,
 And another part a me that screams nJoy!
  as it falls upward like a rocked it,
   cursing all left behind
    with the insults of light,
     fallen down like a fallen angel
 of darkness, from darkness, into darkness.