The year is silent in the cul-de-sac
you called my heart, but I am empty
with an appetite
for smoke or charring bites of lightning.
They think it's beautiful;
this hollow - they wish upon it,
tie splints of charity because it's hope,
but they are marooned starlings
all red as the Midwest sun
and nomads in her sand.
I am tired
of being liked for the clarity of my broken
(though maybe if you stopped looking at me
like I was wounded, I could start closing up),
for the helpfulness of my tongue,
or the perspective of death-bound eyes.
But there is no pride in holding the Self
together, in blowing moonward kisses
to gods, "please ta
my lover went to Japan by learningtobefree, literature
Literature
my lover went to Japan
mu-onna moans into my lover's ear the song
of her witchcraft. i can hear his soft coo back,
his slick wrist maneuvering the way only men do.
mu-onna is the nothing woman.
my lover's neck burns crimson when i'm with him
and evaporates at her touch.
ghost, she is, like lost soul or misplaced matter.
mu-onna, the walls call.
seep back into our hollow creases.
on a night made of confessions and no control,
i found her on my lover's tongue.
her blood had veined its way into his words
and i, in a frenzy of blinks & sterile noise,
strangled mu-onna out of his skin.
when she fleets through a room,
a window breaks inaudibly,
a door cre
this is the gospel of you:
i lay there,
naked and mortal and
starry-eyed,
and you,
crouched with large dark pupils,
you,
a nymph and a priestess and a vision,
you,
my muse who breathed soft wonderings,
baptized me
on a bath mat
with a plastic yellow bucket.
you poured the water over my breasts and collar bone
and it was holy, holy, holy.