The pure cleanliness of innocence,
Or the unclean marketplace desires?
To be friendly
or experienced?
Our sons come with the scope of power,
With the confidence of a multitude
fed on the milk of love
and grown in crocheted glimmer.
They will learn from a trick candle
How to live.
Our daughters?
They come with blood,
to give birth to thorns.
I remember your letter of gun metal,
How I read it between my ribs
Before I could stand to see it.
I was executed for the fifth time that day,
Convulsing in a pool of my own heart music,
Staccato on the antiseptic floor.
Control is between your thumbs.
Make your skin detectable.
Thank you.
One day it will be as a mirror.
If you are writing again,
use the electrical font.
A woman of gold
takes the train to the north
and sleeps in cold cars.
What is her business?
Star products.
People live in this fire.
Speak in writing,
alien resident
content.
*
Take your unwise legs
and go northward to the country
to break.
Foul perfume of fear,
my face as lowly wine,
harvest yesterday.
He removes me,
a good counselor.
I know he is clean,
correct,
painful.
His name means success,
In an absent language.
In his cell phone is my stultified image,
another woman
in a lightning world
with no sign
of beauty.
My face is a window.
You see me
standing naked in my heart.
Cut the phantom from my back.
I am unannounced and unfrequented.
A wavelength no one sees,
a dizzy, dazzling particle
known to science only as
“effusive missing.”
Schrödinger’s dancer dancing in
the dark.
Remove from me the red, digitized light
of sovereignty and certainty.
I’m free of rain.
I show my picture to the mirror.
I was not busy in my shiny days
and now I see
clouds of supplication ahead,
burning bronze.
My shape shifting selfishness
Folded into a skin box,
Origami.
My life was born for a while,
between sameness and joy.
Ten times I memorize myself,
candy candle
I have to light,
To guide kaleidoscope perception
Back home to me.
Interdependence is difficult and soft,
ad infinitum.
Dead now, I move to the grass
and develop a conscience like film.
My good mental conferences expel
content behind two leaky blue bags.
My tongue is holy and broken.
Fields behind me
Shy away.
My bracelets are sharp for them.
A pointillist point pontificates
on how many men it takes to paint
a portrait of dramatic, carcinogenic war.
In my closet,
a gun,
in my mind,
strange acts of sex and survival.
Distinguishable by rudimentary colors,
indistinguishable by sedimentary feuds.
In my Freudian slip I attract fireflies,
corpulent river deltas,
expunged scales of seething grain.
Behind the house a man grows mice
to furnish pale places with plague.
He will slide home when the death
evaporates like hail in heat,
find himself in my wet caverns.
Taupe travel traipsing over
someone else’s days,
bypassing my breath.
In the heady blood of surgery,
The resurgence of hunger.
The twirls of terrain beyond
the tips of my last resort skin
eddy with earthy puns –
something about guarding a garden.
No woman goes beyond the
rough hewn fence,
the fossils beyond still snaggle
jawed and just.
