Quiet Now, Quiet Now
I write freely,
quietly,
without you,
without
your trespass.
Love has a
texture,
whispers and songs
in the dark
bring a
vintage wine,
laughter.
No offense, but
these are
my words
of straw,
written indelibly,
finally,
to and about
you.
Life, this pulse,
ocean of pleasantness,
reaches out,
her hands wet and full,
deadly too.
I yield
to her feral call,
hungry, naked
exploited.
Interior world
of screams,
vast and
stolen, wishes
upon the suicidal
rock.
Goodnight and
so long.
Quiet now,
quiet now,
to you belongs
the kingdom
you possess
and so long for,
crucify your
curses there,
upon that cross,
a good soldier,
feminine,
marching across
the marshes
of your own
smallness.
I will drink
the nectar
of rest, and you,
your twisted
mouth,
and memories
like sores
on your
tired body.
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