The Loneliness of a Body
Your arms are a casket
white tulips; money;
mouthwash
they push me into a garden
where ghosts keep us
they push me into a garden
where ghosts keep us
from being ourselves
I dig my hands through wet
earth and find your father’s skull
vine-wrapped with a dead bat
sticking out of his eye-hole
I dig my hands through wet
earth and find your father’s skull
vine-wrapped with a dead bat
sticking out of his eye-hole
I suggest I sit in a
saucer of milk
or drag you with a chain
You ask me to come back
on a day when you are living,
but nothing lives, not like the dead
I stare into the sky
one hand on my grand-mother and one hand
You ask me to come back
on a day when you are living,
but nothing lives, not like the dead
I stare into the sky
one hand on my grand-mother and one hand
on your chest --- the
stars are wondering
if your piercings indicate
slave or
master
What else is there, if we can’t talk
about the things you hid---
lovers in closets, man--
but, your girl found me, told me
you wouldn’t fuck her
I am not yours now
and that fact is endless
and that fact is endless
Freak. I've never read a poem like this.
ReplyDeletewhy not. do your eyes only read things that talk about flowers or bunnies? I don't see how you have never read a poem like this. use your words to explain yourself.
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