The cold passed in months of impalpable paleness, smoking ghosts of cigarettes, fingered phantoms sandwiched in crannied knuckles, nothingness ...
Linchpins in our rose petal lips, bobbins ribboned with memory ...
The strawberry fields of childhood, sun slumped upon your shoulders in drunken slumber,
bending to pick wicker-handled basketfuls of berries, red rubies fat and fleshly,
spitting juices from stained milk teeth.
Breakfasts and biscuits with peach preserves and jam
spread by the butter knife with the gingham handle, drinking well water from jelly jars,
raspberry sherbet drips painting your dimpled chin.
God thrusts the sun through the dining room, my younger brother standing in the den,
shooting a flotilla of invisible foes with a finger gun,
as I spear the sun’s wings with warmed appendages,
he blows his brains out in the bathos of boyhood.In white winter, I cried out for the caress of a skirt’s hem at my knee,
sylph as a morning mist.
Now, the tender hands of spring have stripped the sheets of snow beds,
gently parted the braided meadows.
Legs of light lazily baste the brick-webbed walk,
Land of magnificent liars, suicide bombers!
The mirage of a baby’s birth, at infancy,
an arranged marriage, slavery, to the gods of greed, money, greed.
We’ve been wed in the west, souls in debt to paychecks.
Abandon the abusive husband, abandon the barren wasteland!
Sometimes I feel as ancient as the earth, the dust and the dirt,
I could be a native tree, cut me down and cut my rings.
Comfortless as a limp flea fallen on the froth of the sea,
And I sleep with a beast of a stomach ache resurrected,
time bearing on our crimson crossed hearts.
For you could amputate the umbilical cord of society;
we are the only species enslaved under the thumb of money!