memory: real, present, persistent, gnawing
(read from the heart
not with sexual connotation
or the grieving heart is misunderstood)
do you know how long
it took for me
to get your memory
out of my room?
a grain. a grain.
that’s all I needed
a grain. a grain.
you brought fermenting love
that would last
as an untenable sky of hope
a cliff. a cliff.
that’s where you drove
a cliff. a cliff.
the bridge rope I threw
would not fall right in your hands,
unreactive planetary dupe
ah, connect. ahh, connect.
that was your retreat
misconnect. disconnect.
flap. dangle. snap.
infallible flaws of your kind
that never seem to change,
mountain claws I can’t escape
oh pain. oh pain.
I fell into your face again
oh pain. oh pain.
here I come again
lines so dim
we don’t know where to draw
stand on this side
without knowing your own law
cold, dark, naked,
frigid, trembling
lost
remake me
clothe me
warm me
enlighten me
draw me closer to You
found
our father problems
are the prodigality
of our premise
that we can be sinners
without a hope for God
temperate. temperate.
He did for me what I can’t do for I-
O not too cold, hot, or frigid
in the poles
temperate. temperate.
how is it they all know so much
interrelated to our relatives
still unable to see the connections
eyes refusing to see
children. children.
the stories became transmuted
transfixed sameness
from the original mix
why should we look down on such earthly masters
when we are just their clowns?
we wouldn’t know what to do.
we wouldn’t know what to do.
harmony scratched—
dilapidate the pulsating flaps
of my heart when such masks
rule the world
contrary converse
couldn’t seem as pretty
as a person undying
wreck. wreck.
dreams clash onto rock
streams of salt
watering…fine.
I guess we’re done.
how do you do it?
forget? unfeel? unpromise?
could you give me back the flesh
you pulled out and between
it belongs to me,
elastically snap—
let go!
the heart piece you took from me—
it wants to follow wherever you go
unreal. soldier away
and find another loyalty
without showing
a catapulting heart turn
yep. I finally squashed,
threw darts at,
popped, hid from
your memory in my room
proof to me
that Nietsche men can’t love
anything
but money and prosperity
like Greek and Roman lords
whom he thought
he was trying not to be
discarding the truths
in their philosophy
it’s nothing new
just—can a woman
please stand up
against these stupid men instead, please?—
stupid. stupid.
crucified me
like an insect on a dusty display
a nail. a nail.
that’s where I need to be
a nail.
lamehousewife
