When she is crying, a woman
is a waterfall, water cascading
Down her breasts.
Waterfalls are most like an argument
With its deafening fall.
Fall is like a fire blazed
Across the dying countryside.
The countryside is a graveyard.
Graveyards are mostly crying women,
Hanging heads over empty holes.
Empty holes are like your eyes,
Little oceans devoid of light.
The ocean is empty like a grave
That’s been robbed after midnight.
Midnight is lonely like a woman
Standing alone in a red field.
The fields used to grow crops,
But their fertility has withered
Like an old woman’s breasts.
Women’s breasts are robbed
Like creeks, pan-mined for little bits
Of gold. Pans will tremble
Long after morning until she screams.
Her voice can drown waterfalls.
A MAN IS A DOG
a man is a dog and by that i mean
he is either loyal or vicious.
vicious can mean either aggressive
or immoral and either way
he will be celebrated for his manliness.
manliness is a hoax and by that i mean
there is no reason for you to harm
me to protect your pride.
your pride is a bee and you’ve stolen
my nectar. nectar can mean flower-juice
or the drink of the gods. i’d like
to believe i was feeding Zeus
before you came and stole me away.
it’s black treacle leaking out her eyes.
she wears her heart on a cord around her neck
like some sort of prize for you to snatch away.
she knows the game you’re playing
and she’s decided to deal herself in. her poker face
is to die for, especially when she’s playing
russian roulette with your pistol. it’s a never-ending
game of who will die before they feel the other’s pain.
Skin, a Fractured Un-Sonnet of Memory
If I tear the skin away from my face so you have no reason to hate me
You’ll spit at me still. And if I reach between my legs, cut the skin away
Suture the holes so you have no way to hurt me, still you’ll find a way.
Slash the muscles in my throat so you won’t hear the fear rising,
But still you’ll see it in me. My body will be bloody and bruised,
Tendons holding ripped muscle to burned organs to broken bones
And by the time you realize your faults it will be too late for me
And you’ll forget. My body will be a pile beneath a pile of Earth.
Maybe you’ll apologize and strangers will hate you more than you hate me
I was innocent. My offense: breathing air you believed I didn’t deserve.
Maybe you’ll be shredded to pieces like a fox in the jaws of Hell’s Hounds.
But that won’t reverse a thing and I’ll still be beneath the ground.
But can anyone remember the things they cannot see?
Maybe they’ll question my existence? Say you’re innocent, maybe?
The skin once peeled from my face will be forgotten.
The stitches peeling away from my womanhood will be forgotten.
The muscles in my throat bleeding out will be forgotten.
You will hate again. Be prosecuted again. Be forgiven again.
And another innocent person will be forgotten again.