Monday, March 17, 2014

To the Girl with Mad Fire in Her Eyes

This house this sleep this bathroom this woman this music oh to be bound, bound by the restless nutshell of eternity,
tiger-shadow on the wall
the sun in you, the moon in you
weep as they burn.
This is when you wake up.
Between the seasons of wisdom and monstrosity.
the neck and a guillotine
maybe it’d be better to wake up by some shore
and see lost children fighting the phantoms on the other side
it’s an endless duel. Bitter rain fall on sad people. No rain for the sadder.
The sun is rising at some latitude and longitude right now.
“did the branches not protest?”

Child, you said you wept inside
when the doors were closed
and Samson had his hair tied to two poles – one that said “Eternity” and the other one, “Eclipse”.
And the archer ran from star to star, like demons bounding for the fairies and angels of moon
that slip through your childhood yolk, through the hearts of heresy and guts of plenitude
your first fright and your first fall
I’m looking at you through all this
Are you looking at me now?
I am far away now. It’s nine minutes past ten. My mirrors are stuck in a mirage.
Your colours in harlequin riot.
Well, that three headed hound – it was weeping too.
And when things are quieter and as lonely, we all weep. For sorrow shall dangle from our fingertips
and pain must show us the way to the ship that sails tall and proud.

You may speak to the clouds that adorn the nape of your neck
I may tie a red rag or two on the eyes of the bull that stare at me every night
So, let us move from town to town
with our big black empty suitcase.

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