The great thing
is not having
a mind. Feelings:
oh, I have those; they
govern me. I have
a lord in heaven
called the sun, and open
for him, showing him
the fire of my own heart, fire
like his presence.
What could such glory be
if not a heart? Oh my brothers and sisters,
were you like me once, long ago,
before you were human? Did you
permit yourselves
to open once, who would never
open again? Because in truth
I am speaking now
the way you do. I speak
because I am shattered.

your mother
was a girl with ashes in her eyes and gold in her nostrils
a chain delicate as autumn leading from ear to the centre
of her heart, of the place where our priest's holy incense found its sole purpose.

I just assumed that she
was a wild wanton that ran through the ashes and dust of the
streets of the market at dust, and she loved and did not love
and not loving made it easier to lay on the tabernacle of a sacred courtesan.

we don't have those anymore
they drove them out screaming, naked, heads shaven
as barren and scorched as the desert in their dying breaths
and Maryam, we don't have those anymore,
the word is not courtesan but *****.

but I took it on faith out of love for you
when you told me with fire in your eyes that your mother
saw the face of God in between the sheets of paper
as a maiden pure, the Egyptian lotus in her secret sweetness only God knew,
Psyche drawing back the veil of Isis, looking at the face of her star-birthing lover.

to love you was to look at the sun
and be burned, enflamed, seared into agony and nothingness
and yet to be clothed in the flesh of the sun anew
and when I wore nothing but the star-strewn gold dusk of my skin
I wore the sacred mantle of a courtesan.

Sometimes i suspect I only
dreamt you up in my head
so I penciled your words
on my ceiling
Just in case
I wake up

Prologue
see, do you see?
Judy and Punch
are shopping
Like the loving couple they are
they are at it together

Action!
Punch puts in a carton of beer
into the trolley
And Judy hauls it out immediately
and puts it back on the shelf –
It’s too expensive, honey
says Judy.  $50 a carton, that’s too much money


Now Judy is in the “Beauty” section
and picks a Beauty Pack for $100
and Punch protests immediately:
That’s what’s too much money!

Oh, but you do want
me to look beautiful, darling –
don’t you? says Judy, with a smile

Yeah, sweetheart,
but half the price
would have done the trick!
says Punch, with a counter-smile


Epilogue**
Now, what do you think
happens after Punch’s punch line?
Do you think Judy makes
the literal and the metaphorical merge?
Are the stars Punch sees literal
or figurative, you think?

i have never fully grasped
serenity. calm. silence
of mind

always, going
always running, always thinking.
doing. i prepare. but alas, that is
never enough.

what if for a day
i pretended. it never happened. nothing changed
nothing hurt.

would that help?
probably not. at this point, i need understanding.
freedom from.

i apoligize.
i am vague. not a person alive
knows all. everything. since then to
now. this moment.

how could i explain?

perhaps, i could tell to you
that i feel as though i have been turned inside out, stripped, and shooken. like an
animal has climbed inside me and torched me; clawed, teared every part me. until
i am an empty carcass, living in the dark as would a zombie.

and then i would leave, quietly. secretly.
i live better that way.

as if anyone could know.

They babble of shine
long lifed friendship
sharing shakes and
fries
But one mention of tires
and the babble
dries up and
dies

Scars
Raised lines of white puffy flesh
Scattered across my body
I cannot tell if they contain the demons or release them.

I know very little of you or of love
But I know that you should not have to hold my hand
and feel every battle the I have lost with my demons
Contained in white puffy flesh.

And when you put your hand on the small of my back
You should not feel useless carved across my skin
Written in my white puffy flesh.
You should not trace the thoughts of a girl who finds solace in secret sharpness.

So run.

Run.

Before I trap you in my Infiniti.

I do not have a fingerprint, you see, only scars in the shape of my life.

My secret sharpness.

My hair runs down to my ****, so that I can hide my back.
But what of the times that we rest side by side.
And I crack you toes and you fear arthritis and boredom.
I'll put my hair up is that I can trace your bones.
I am exposed.

So I will run.
Before I latch my veins to you heart.
Hurry!
Before we become one.
Before my scars stretch and envelope you.

I can't tell if our white puffy flesh contains or releases my demons.

The overall meaning
Is teamingly seeming
With overly active imaginative dreaming.
And through your brain it's weaving.
And leaving messages.
In need of interpretive cleaning.
Its beaming in ways that can be so demeaning.
Reasoning toward a way of redeeming.

*It's Exhilarating.

Please forgive me, but it was so tempting, you see
And I know that doesn't excuse me
I looked them up again, my X and his catch
I found something I hadn't seen, a video they had made from the NY Times
I turned green, or maybe it was a shade of lime 
Of course I had to watch it, I'm in the bar, might as well order ***** and tip a dime
He seemed nervous, professing his 26 year love symbolized by a picture
Said he knew who he was now, mumbled other things a muddled lecture
This photo as a kind of insurance?  Always hidden from me
She was 41, feeling the pressure to combine for the world to see
He made a big rush at her, I guess that's fine
His love based on a brief event in high school 25 years ago, a moment in time
But no one cares what happened then, that's just too old
You're just a kid, your memories by now are covered in mold
She couldn't see through it, and they couldn't have ***
They skyped for hours a day, what would come next?
Just pining and dreaming, a 19th century romance
Waiting, hoping to meet to take the chance
But then her friends said "this is crazy, he's just mooching off of you"
As his father told my parents when they complained, he's a shlemiel through and through
That means a mooch, a user, a parasite
If you've got what he wants he'll be there overnight
So pressured and blinded by a simpletons idea of romance
(she edits dime novels for a living by candlelight by chance)
They met in a whirl in Switzerland
Of course that makes it better, being abroad makes him kin
And quickly he worked and they were engaged
And suddenly they were "an item," all the rage
In the Times video they walk through ***** New York snow,
and stop at a cupcake store and feed each other, you know
And it's all staged so perfectly but somehow doesn't ring true
All smiles, all closeness, but there's greyness, coldness in their hue
and as he speaks I feel like I'm watching a police video where a criminal lies
Says he didn't do it, and he was somewhere else besides
And I shouldn't of done it, shouldn't of googled them, I admit I'm bad
But even through the loss of my own dream with him, her situation looks kind of sad
So in my future, I'm sure I'll seek romance
But I'll take it easy, go slow and listen to my friends
For this man nearly destroyed me, brought me to my knees
And I can't ever go through that again, so other's advice I'll seek