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.


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