Firenze:

December 30, 2013 § Leave a comment

even when I am not in you

I love you as a child, hungers

as a hostage loves the jailer that keeps her alive, fed and unfree

there is no true freedom in death but the stars

say it is so, and if you follow them they’ll take you to her

 

still- it’s the river

reflecting their fiction

depicting their reflection

 

take care to speak to the sky when addressing the moon

or, lose your siren

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intervention.

December 17, 2013 § Leave a comment

four white walls two white sheets

and my blood, my blood

I’m alive- only just

between two white sheets.

woman.

December 10, 2013 § Leave a comment

there’s a hole in the sun and I can slip right in

flatten out my being and roll me up within

be the darkest spot on the wound of your skin

if you have a lesion you must fill it right in

but my corners will cut curves into the hole in your sun

and if I know myself I’ll remain a full moon

you never asked to be my mountain:

December 10, 2013 § Leave a comment

but I need one.

and so it came to pass that I grew a mountain in my garden

and so it came to pass that I befell myself-

oh how the return took away my will to recoil

on how the return took away my will to fight the hate of men already children

my gift to you is the discovery of myself beyond your opprobrium,

beyond your image of me,

me

driving syriacus deep into mountain, in my name,

on my return.

distance.

December 8, 2013 § Leave a comment

the new world- not where love came to die

and neruda is unpacked like june cotton

seasonally, objectively, emptily

 

there is nothing beyond the pleasure

of a heartbeat skipping over itself in the old world before time

shaped us to its will, and took our will to love-

 

there is nothing beyond the exile of quick and brittle

nostalgie HaLevi

two homeward migrations outside the need to be watered-

 

there, promises

 

like quicksand steal the very earth from under you

it was not yours to pay for with blood but stains- stains

remain to disprove time’s hunger for passing, over

yirmiyahu.

December 8, 2013 § Leave a comment

I am no tree you can scratch your image into again, and again and again.

My love is no tree you can scratch your image into, or your name.

I am no old wound for you to open and fill with your reflection,

I am no old wound for you to breathe into, I am no old wound.

There is no reconciliation.

December 7, 2013 § Leave a comment

and night came in as though it had been swimming in icewater

angled its kisses to the moon

cold arms wrapped around me settling down

and night came in-

 

how it threw itself at me, crying.

neruda was not here to write that down.

Where Am I?

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