fragment

can’t have my children sweet bloom of the-far-away knees curled up to her chin hair fallen over her face like a little boy’s gutted smeared with gold pick up our bones throw up earthworks I’m here that’s all that matters slip my hand under the fabric of her underwear carry her to the bedroom I ate my own placenta I was born blue just talk to me I don’t know why I avoid confrontation so much I’m abandoned within myself like an old factory blighting a landscape the word itself is only a vague cipher for the air which moves around the figure or what the ancients called ‘aura’ a map of a city the stubbly blond hairs on her legs her pubic her ass and her slender back lean arms small breasts black hairs poke up around the nipples which I pluck with my teeth when I see them she howls in pain and maybe even pleasure light a candle make more tea wake back up there’s more to say metaphor and image collide in the vacuum of speech Ornette Coleman very loud I said be grateful be still before this was real it was true in the slanted lamplight you can go back to your life but I have to keep living in this one the heart’s home is early-chosen late-lamented on the brink of deep night we encircle the earth clouds pile up the moon begins its long labor of giving birth to the ocean of mourning try to sleep while long blue meteors chase the weariness away if I knew myself better I’d have changed everything a long time ago at the far end of Time I’m in the grave already resurrect me kiss my neck just like that baths are a bid for health taken up when she’s tired or nervous working a restorative cure for the claustrophobic tensions of our…