harking back to an earlier poem of mine: poor wendy -- all the heroines get left behind. but she was a darling after all. yes, i very much have tears in my eyes. and it shall be hard to see, and sometimes i won't want to, but i will go on looking an...
i bear the star on each thigh of my mother's eye, splintered as the glass of their wedding frame : flesh is softly undone easy as a knife through butter : unravel and maim our years (the love that was lost) THE WOMAN DESTROYED i was stung softly — sweetly — singed by your loving hand that toyed with me and the naïvety of my navel nailed skyward. your hands crucified my arms which had only ever held you close. the dose is low of a pink pillule pressed prettily to the tongue morning and afternoon to slow the pangs ; smother the sea of each lung. i pray for the flight to sail to sea and test the knocks of each wall — (do you see how each thigh parts redily as the roses that climbed our granite home?)
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old paraphernalia found me a girl destroyed and left for dead — lied to and discarded in our very bed — the three of them that you were all over them all over their three heads — you ruined all my songs and ruined everything that really meant anything to me with each butchering touch of the hand it does not matter at all to the carcass of the one that you love(d).
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