Thursday, 30 June 2011

The Ex-Goddess


Sipping nightshade from a bowl


The Ex-Goddess


Rests her eyes on her hands.


Alone now in her room


I reach as far as her


And she has found


There is no God.


The night is passing


While her every hair


Will lift and grow and drop and die


I open to that feeling.


But she hasn't much time


And the scissors feel better


In her hand


As the other throws


A girl's hair across the bed.


The things he knew


He knew they were nothings


Weren't you born tired, confess?


Will the Devil twist shadows


Of you and me


By a kissing gate


On the empty Wall.


There is no Devil


The Ex-Goddess has found


Me making shadow puppets


With her hands


Of a woman searching for a wound


I believe I saw


When we spilt


A bowl of nightshade.



2011



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