When do you decide to kill and what
stops you?
God. I pause.I am uncertain
of myself.
and what do you want to learn from all
of this? she waves her hands over
the fire.
I pause. I am uncertain of
myself.
but there are the men
and they are giant.
will you teach me how to kill my God?
“Hecate”
Oh of course! it said
love someone.
love/some/the number one in the broken heart.
the message from you in the dream was love someone.
this next section is called: “I’m not sorry”
the no-mistake run
you,
thorn in my rib and
absorbed in my
fascia,
sharp in the introduction
but dull once picked.
you tickle my spine
without bloodshed
but left a trail of detritus
for me to pick through.
for me to sift.
find what’s yours,
what’s ours,
find it somewhere.
me, I sink into your elbow,
lips a bobbing knife;
seasoned and slow,
blunt but steady,
cutting deeper with each
grin.
I am patient,
learn the swerve
of each artery.
lick your neck.
lick your fingers.
cut you open
with each flick.
we are curved into each
other two indolent
house cats striped with ribbons
of the other.
trimmed claws but
voracious and reaching
cautious with each lunge,
each obstructed mile
in our separate paved
jungles,
tame and
crouching.
tame but
longing and
finding what is
us.
us, scratching
at each other’s scabs
to remember how to
hunt.
“us”
open your wounds
and sit in them.
tell yourself a story.
–how to be a lake
“the act of choosing things”
I’m draped in promises
and ready to explode.
I am the knife
cutting myself from the
inside out,
up from a well to
follow the moon
into his darkest room.
you trust me?
let your light down,
I’ll show you what
nightmare can do.
“calliope”
My bones cut like an oasis in this room
and you have decided to live
in the shadow
of the hallucination
that promised shelter.
I promised you
I’d stay hot
but you never thought
it would come
so dry,
so big and abandoned
like this.
“the desert”
“They have hung the sky with arrows”
-e e cummings
(I wish she’d come back.)
the last one smelled like fever and
dead roses,
an imposing home,
a candle burned to the base
with each one of my steps
moving away
but still a resounding
n o
at the end of our day.
you smell more like
dawn; a sun blooming
despite the surreptitious stars
and to welcome day home.|
a retreat,
an argument building
in that little shell
you panic inside
and you want to face it,
I can taste it.
a step forward.
you smell like fresh scabs,
and cologne.
I gift you an unending
labyrinth that I twist in my
sheets waiting for the moon
to settle,
for the score to settle,
for the spring to burst forth
and enchant me
with her rows of
green and pardon.
if you can make it through
my winter, you can
get me. if you can make
it, you will have
me.
you will see the garden
beneath my
bramble.
you will see the garden
beneath my night.
“antidote”
Feel your body let go of a place you don’t remember holding onto.
–notes to self
daturamoon.com 