A Tale of Four Stories
i gnaw away, starting from my head, the store-house of
all my phantasms. and my eyes, in which you once drowned
and rose up as a nocturnal fire-bird
i am saving the best for the last, the heart,
tasting of off-season berries shriveled, bitter-sweet
caressed by decades of winter, beating inside
a summer-scented chest,
hay, cow-dung and mildew.
The forest has given birth
to a prying Moon.
It watches over my tendency
to measure things.
The moon, metaphorical as ever, swinging smugly over the
In her I saw your youth (resplendent, shining, bold)
and your age (scarred, empty, restless).
We took turns at the well
Pulling the slimy rope
Bringing up the loot
The coins, the lost kittens
The ghosts of ancient trees
How do we share equally?
You mourn for a life time
But the sudden discovery of that wart
In your armpit made you laugh
(cynical, the 'ha' went up, up, up)
you stop being you.
There is nothing left but dredges
you took what was yours
left behind what was mine
I turn it into a broken mirror
to reflect you
through my shattered veins