that you called her
i never really was.
it is so bright i cannot open my eyes.
i need to be small and die where he cannot reach me.
and i must do something better than weep
in order to be seen, and i must be sighed in a language
not yet known. …
i must feel strange now, like pity or penance, and perhaps...
hole like a beautiful afterlife
belly cool to the fingers.
and the other-girl trees
bend and sway without a sound. [the circle of an empty hand]
and the thing in me dies so quietly.
you wouldn't even notice.
i cannot take the rain with me.
i would give up life for your...
warm nowhere is taking over.
that place where the sun stabs me.
waiting for you is silence.
as if dying must be done and i can only feign
those fingers walking on my breath.
i fling this to the entire circles
moving in the hells. .. ..
and why should i be...
i have torn my dress
down, bloodpink stem, me, the girl, like a flower;
ranunculus. some words have been grown from the petals
and said backwards for the moon and his burning.
i cannot believe for an instant
that he isn't watching.
even now. even when, with repentant breath,
one ought to
wait and gather sweetness and something more poetic
than mere words strung like black beads on meaningless string.
they should mean a whole life.
innate. the root of all.
and if possible, i will witness that first star,
before it shoots itself, scream into...
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