S O N G
Married to the Moon
i found the moon for you.
it had fallen into the lake
and was hugging the bed
-- its face bent and broken
spinning on top of the water
(as you waited, alone
counting time’s heart-beats).
the ancient voice, who
called your name?
space folded between the ripples
of the lake and the clouds
covering the moon.
leaving only a faint voice
at the bottom of the lake,
hiding other voices.
i found it for you, my love!
it brought me close enough
to stab you more easily.
the wedding dress has faded, its lace
gone. the wild flowers you want to pick
will never grow. how can i
faithfully wait for you?
moss grows on the benches. your breath
is filled with doubt and uncertainty.
silence plays an ancient violin
on the grass of my soul.
it has faded. i am naked,
the bee has never tasted
the blossom i saved.
it is a strange journey
from the roots to the branches:
scattered seed making love
to the butterflies.
and the wind wiped the sweat
from the brow of time.
before i return to the roots
everything the season promises.
endless long struggles: grass
crawling over the lands of love,
birds, insects, pests,
looking for somewhere to fight.
you paint the coming season
from the open buds. abundant fruit
from sweat and blood. i count
the farmers waiting the season’s promise.
before i return to the roots,
i plant hope,
and watch it rise into the air.
my tears cool the heat of the day
and help the new shoots grow.
Married to a Knife
i have arrived somewhere, spinning
in a labyrinth, it was a long journey,
without a map. and the darkness
is perfect. I followed a lane
between a river and a chasm.
there was a scream. it sounded like a song.
perhaps it came from my mouth. there was a moan,
like a lullaby. perhaps it came from my mouth.
but i have landed in a place
of perfect alienation: your body is covered with maggots
which i ignore. until i find complete
sexual satisfaction. then i finish you too,
i stab you in the heart and
tear off your prick
in my pain.
Married to the Grass
you were married to the grass. your home
was a land of weeds. you lived in the rustling wind
and told lies to the heavens.
people sympathised with you. they knew
it was a dark wedding and a celebration
based on sex. you needed them to scatter flowers for you,
to pray, and sit by your grave.
you were married to the grass. the garden was vast,
so was the earth, the sky, and the world
of your soul. you were married to the loneliness
left by future generations. you ate the earth,
toxic sprays, a world of small animals
seeking shelter among tears and death.
Married to a River
you brought me flowers. here,
where there is only sand, weeds and mud. sometimes,
a foul smell. sometimes, rotting corpses. the crabs
take no notice of my coming.
where is the room you promised me?
our bridal chamber, ready
for unending battle, for the desire
which flowers in hatred and confusion.
I fall onto the wet earth, pregnant
with poison, and give birth
to a sterile civilisation with no morality.
knowingly, i married houses made of cardboard boxes.
there was no wedding ring. only poverty and
the skilful recycling of worthless trash. there was
no banquet, only plague and skilful civic regulations.
there were no hymns, only the sound
of wild animals hurrying past.
knowingly, i married a restless world
and turned my prayers into hopes. i turned
my promises into laments.
i married an age obsessed with breasts.
i wed the groom but he asked me
to suckle him with the language of fear.
you squeezed salt
from the sweat of sailors.
i chose fish from their intercourse
with the sea. the salt
was as bitter
as unending worry.
we waited on a coral reef.
while the waves and our breath
pounded all around us. watching
the sky meet the sea
wrapped in nets.
it was a perfect wedding!
the hill holds my love. when it opens
blood trickles out, smearing
time – while i wait.
now i beg for a bed of flowers.
or, perhaps, a coffin.
you came. there were no shadows.
you left. covered in shadows.
i have wanted to split the rocks
for years. all i have to show
is a gravestone.
you led me to a strange hill: we followed the sun
as it scattered golgotha’s sweat. death
and resurrection: the ecstasy of a journey
through the alphabet and the scriptures.
“jesus, you have drawn a map of the pleasures
of pilgrimage. journeying century after century
among unspoken prayers and psalms. i need a map,
i can read the vague directions in the palms of your hands
and the words of the prophets.”
i am only a prostitute, with no hope of heaven.
i take my body wherever i want, offering
false intimacy and lies about love. each line
is filled with breath and sweat. the jackals howl.
night’s hatred shivers between frightened wild animals.
i carry my heart among empty confused love.
i offer it to men who paint the wind with their eyes.
“jesus, give me the pleasure of strange love,
of climax after climax in strange beds,
give me everything men do not have,
but don’t give me heaven.”
i crawl over unnamed hills. everything is finished
because of the empty wind and meaningless words.
among the sound of the mumbled words of the angels
and the church bells ringing. i am only a prostitute,
unwilling to find the door and the hollow pews.
i am only a prostitute, offering sin, but i keep
the sentences no one prays, i search the hills
and plow the fields. plant sweat in trembling wounds,
and watch gardens full of roses blossom.
man, even as i embrace you, i mock you!
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