I know no more of love
I know no more of love
than I know of poetry,
a poem fragile
as an Indian pipe,
a plant without
color.
I found one
of the plants
in the woods
near the country
club.
I know no more
of love
than I find
in you green
eyes.
I know no more of love
than I know of poetry,
a poem fragile
as an Indian pipe,
a plant without
color.
I found one
of the plants
in the woods
near the country
club.
I know no more
of love
than I find
in you green
eyes.
You cling to me like a wet t-shirt,
Uncomfortable–
weighing me down, yet settling in like a second skin.
I smile, laugh, and let those who just drowned me
in the water of lies and life
think I am unphased.
I move my chest – up & down-
as if to take a breath,
so that they know I am okay.
But inside I am SCREAMING for
A I R
for L I F E,
for P E A C E.
My brain, a fog of
cyclonic forces raging against one another.
Voices saying –
you are enough,
it’s okay,
you’re not drowning,
just breathe!
Oh! I do not want to be exposed
by the power you have over me.
So,
I run, I hide, I do everything I can to remove
the remnants of your assault.
I struggle to peel off the weight,
leaving my naked skin–
my most authentic self.
Hoping this time,
changing the outside circumstances,
will alter my inside–
creating a safe place for my mind to hide,
and my heart to rest.
The plate is passed.
Each woman pricks her finger, and in plops a single drop of blood.
Each man passes it on, offering nothing.
He does not prick his finger.
He does not offer his blood.
*
The plate passes.
Each woman slices her pinky off, letting it thud into the silver platter.
Each man passes it on, offering nothing.
He keeps his pinky.
*
The plate is passed.
Each woman gives a hand. An arm. A toe. A foot.
The men pass it on.
They remain whole.
*
The plate is passed.
The men pass it to each other.
There are no more women.
They ask each other why.
Sometimes it’s little things
You are a blue mountain dragon wreathed in the greenest fire, nothing like the sun,
rather an earthly atomic guarding the trudging road to Eden. For me
there is no life, you have judged me scales and sword, blind as the days we loved.
There is justice for all, mercy for few, but not for me.
You are entity. You are filled with me. Out pour the colors of your jealousy.
I am filled with nothing. Here is the reality. You don’t want to lose me.
Here I am, if you want to use me. Nothing lasts forever as I float across your way.
If I burst you will know we are all temporary.
The river of forgetfulness reaches to Mount Purgatory, and hell was the journey.
Those years of walking together we couldn’t forget. We climbed the hill to heaven
but I fell again, and again, many times over, and you dreamed when you were mine
Mr. Goldman. What we believed in didn’t set us free,
it’s that you floated on a weather balloon up to heaven,
and you lassoed me up to a seat on the highest of God’s moons, buffalo girl.
