Wanting It
the hot quarter moon in my palm
accuses me of arranging superfluous words
with the bitterness of one thousand dead
whose stale bodies are new
in heaven tonightyourbody in the room seems to me
what the wish of you looks like
but what is it about somebody sleeping
that epitomizes somebody asleep?
you dream like a manwho has mirrors on his shoes
while my hands stay awake
are awake hands...
they practice the hour over and over
with this borrowed penthe water in the glass makes me yawn
for with the exception of shadows
there is no enchantment here...
where is the random love
you once flung at me?where is memory ?
where are your fingers that I have lost?
my vagina has gone now
under my dress
and I have written the trutha star is shaped nothing like a star -
we fool ourselves in bits and pieces
and feed the same way
as climbing the staircase of a lone dog's bark
into the dark angry throat of the nightI breathe in
the air you breathe out
