In looking at adoring you, I think about homicide. think about your gun

of a mouth, jaw long and smoking. when I ask you how to be beautiful for you,

you recommend ******. shield it. consider a dead lady the least vain.

in looking at cherishing men, my mom recommends adoring a blade

first. learn if sharpness can be a decent dad, if a cutting edge can make kissy faces.

each lady needs a man, few need a decent blade. I name my kitchen an affection

war. search for you in the cutting cabinet. search for you in my razor. make a sentiment

out of scratching. I have no mysteries for first dates. simply continuing slashing. put his edge

to your neck. he will give you a chance to drain first (no,​ ​after​ ​you​). furthermore, this is the reason I leave

what's more, return. I know I'm a lady, by the manner in which I take war. by the manner in which I let weapons

give me kids, even cut and fixed. by the manner in which our affection is squeezing the injury.

Since she was conceived on a homestead,

she wanted to speak cow,

particularly when they lay

in daylight on the *****

beyond the oil well.


At that point she wanted to talk wild rose,

the one that developed beneath the horse shelter,

it appeared to address her

of everything she couldn't yet have

or know, yet she proved unable

to address it, even of it, for a considerable length of years.


At that point she want to speak plantation

where pears turned the ground gold,

where yellow coats swarmed,

where she couldn't go alone.

A long time later, markets were more secure,

she overlooked this one.


Others she always remember—the lake

with its trim edge of *******, the foot

prints of cows and steeds along the edge

making a kind of writing.


The roughage that clung to her dad

and siblings, following into their sweat

as they worked in August

to bring it into the horse shelter,

where notes of it hung

in that house of God.


Also, the magic her mom worked

with peaches, tomatoes, green beans,

how her little hands turned them

always delightful—sparkling in the basement,

glowing on the dinner table

Listen, the world stated,

Listen !

Father is figuring out how to sharp the knives

from YouTube, satisfying a long-held ambition.

It has overwhelmed him;

this is the first time he's searched there for anything.

Later he will indicate me

exactly what number of layers of skin

he can pare from a cherry tomato.

I find footling activities with my hands;

he answered to my question, yes he's alright,

and courteously declined my recommendation

of whisky, so this is everything I can offer.

The shadow of the shadow on my father's

father's lung isn't said resoundingly in light of the fact that

breathing says everything for us. He has

an old oil stone somewhere. He is absolutely consumed.

No man ever love to hear
that name.
Lest death strike
and your body
taken as food
and sacrifice
in Ama river.

Amaterasu-the baddest goddess.
Tormentor of all with eyes
whose powers are
so strong and cruel.
We pray
for your early death to come.

We gather in tears
with shield and sword
to take you back alive in chains
and found each warrior
without a head
with horrid looks
of pain.

Amaterasu-the baddest goddess
the owner of the night.
For those so brave
to dance out
still tremble
deep in fright.

Amaterasu-when shadows come
the village gates are barred,
the lantern lit
until the dawn
to dance away our
night horror.

Rumour spread that
at night you come
like an hungry lion through the sky
but when the light
from the lantern glow,
death strike
like a fist.

They say you'll die
like human being.
One day your regime
will pass
but till that day
we bar our doors
until you breathe
your last.

After our love, I lie in the shadow of your shoulder

also, float to the sound of the seventeen-year locust outside,


their forlorn tenor buzz that ascents and falls together

and all of a sudden it stops, and flares out once more.


Their cadence clears against the sides of the house,

stirs like late leaves, a delicate edgy scratching,


the ave, ave, ave syllables of air, skin against skin.

When we happened to come upon her yesterday, inside the church shadows,


the youthful soloist deserted herself to the words she sang,

her interpretation like a nonattendance of dialect. Her music


cast itself away and away, beating on, until the hush

of a vacant room had its spot, where the heat of day


is just lamplight through the recolored windows.

It channels over the dusty floor. It lights


upon a light blue divider, unpredictable in what it touches.

What's more, the deriding, mating voices of the grasshoppers return once more


in their consistent journey out of the earth,

out of the dull, into the shadows.

I looked in the mirror and what did I see, yet a little old woman peering back at me. With packs and sage and wrinkles and wispy white hair and I asked my appearance, how could you arrive?

You used to be straight and incredible and now you're stooped and feeble - when I made a decent attempt to shield you from turning into a collectible.

My appearance's eyes twinkled and she gravely answered, 'You're taking a gander at the blessing wrap and not the gem inside'- - a living pearl and valuable of un-envisioned worth, one of a kind and genuine the genuine you, the main you on earth.

The years that ruin your blessing wrap with different things more savage ought to filter and fortify and clean up that gem.

So concentrate your consideration within, not the out- - on being kinder, smarter, more substance and more dedicated.

At that point, when your blessing wrap is stripped away, your gem will be without set - to transmit God's wonderfulness, all through endlessness.

I take into account those days,
when i used to be a young, innocent infant.
I in no way had understood what was occurring,
For the ones lengthy, darkish six years.

It first commenced with the radio,
My mother and father chatting nervously,
while rushed reports had been heard on
That old ‘speaking container.’

Then, the noises got here.
They might wake me inside the middle of the night.
The whooshing of airplanes flying overhead,
And mom remaining those ****** curtains.

those days father refused for mom and that i
to head outside onto the streets.
i used to be so happy because I wouldn’t go to high school,
but little did I know approximately the actual cause.

whilst dinner become scarce,
and that i ate each last crumb of bread.
once I looked out the window to see
bad human beings being beat to demise.

I recollect the ones days no longer as truly,
As I did again then.
and even after all those years,
I nevertheless wonder why someone might do this to another.

Why do we do this to one another,
Are we animals: predators and prey?
We need to discover a way to get together,
and spot where peace has gone.