Friday, April 17, 2015

HEART THREAD 317 & 319


So what if her skirt is made of flowers
his skin was made of ocean
people grow old with what they hold
all that holding hurts
pain of a violin how can I sing with something in my head
the pale arm that calms me so many nights
all a step away from mania
where does the sound come from you rub on your strings
consider the pain of all I give you
is all forgiving blue light of the other
fills the whole body the way sound fills the ears
only this and nothing else. 

The bowl of night beleaguered me
then airless dawn we read about in books
written by frustrated selfish young men
there is always air enough for women
even poor Salome here I can breathe! but night
had other plans and other selfish men
the one who wouldn’t kiss her one who killed for kissing
o it is strange to be a woman in this world
to have made all this then see it turn against you
boy by boy until the mean old men enslave you
I wish I could do something to change or help
but I’m a habit man mechanical like all the rest.