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Like a locket given on your eighth birthday has
hinges with two sides
aniseed draped in purple sees
the sybil of her symmetry and dissonance
opposites in yoked embryo
she can flash her smile, men will wither
just as a second later, curled on floor she pounds
her golden head to cold tile and whispers
what is wrong with the world for their like?
if they knew, if they only knew
it makes her feel everything including herself as spectacle
a roar of machina and iron needing oiling
the grind drowning out truth’s admonishment
never substantial always fleeting
like a secret arching over people
catching shadows with broken light
if you knew, if you only knew
saw what I saw when I revealed
myself under the wattage and the neon
a girl of scars a girl of perfection a girl with nubs for wings and no
calcium
she is standing up only by the effort of her will
she is falling down only by the collapse of her theatre
all around people lend arms and mouths
let me suck you clean
let me bend to your desire
she despises weakness
in herself, in others
she despises coldness
in herself, in others
how to reconcile the two
polar stars doing battle?
the man who will limp to her side
bend on knee, bequeath himself
is ever lost to her before he has spoken
for she is a woman who responds to the sharp hand
slapping out of her, the mercury of her rage
girls with crossed legs never display
they are always stronger for the secrets they bare
children of horror selling themselves
by river’s edge
as one of those girls she lay down with a boy
they even talked before he turned wet around the eyes
sought refuge within her make
over head the skies were swollen and gray
leaching color from them both until
they could have been siblings or obelisks
faces on Easter Island turned to see
what?
she knew then, if she didn’t change she’d want to slit
herself in two, cleaving seeds into pearls
leaving the part that felt too much
underneath earth
buried far too well for discovery
inheriting the ire of those
who first taught her to fear and loathe
she would burn down their little whickered effigies
falsehoods, notions, everyone thought she was
underneath the gleaming varnish
underneath the madder root temple
two red tongues lashing creation
butterfly effect lusting shorelines
with honeycombed rage
you think you can describe my metal?
she roared with closed mouth of flowers
if you look closely sometimes on
a hennaed moon you can see a glimpse
of the tender cover of her
seeking refuge in
bare and leaning trees
some are born without need for hunt
theirs is the invisible lingua
ever searching in rhythmic chant;
surely, someone must
understand
better than
myself
 
For Manon. (Photo without permission ;))

0 Replies to “Rivers edge”

  1. I am unashamedly admitting to tears. Incredibly insightful and achingly beautiful—there is only one queen of thorns, who apparently sees all

  2. “a girl of scars a girl of perfection a girl with nubs for wings and no/calcium” This poem is a heated knife that burns away the infection and cauterizes the wounds on my soul

          1. Maybe a true friend does just that. See things in ourselves we do not see? I wonder. I have been betrayed by some I thought were ‘true’ friends but ultimately I do believe a true friend is a gift and someone who holds you up when the water rises too high.

    1. She’s so worth it. She’s the sister i always longed for, we’re so alike except she’s got better legs and could drink me under the table 😉 seriously she’s family, i think even wolves and antelope and leopards adore her.

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