Thursday, July 9


I keep dead flowers for my cruelty.

Inconsiderate me, and thousand dead flowers.

Consider this:

Dancing on a dying man’s heart and sleeping

That joyful slumber of the cats while you watch them.

God, if thy claims are true,

Thou must be angry with this unruly child

For I am not thy sheep. Silly sheep.

I am an unfeeling lady with interests.

Passions, preferably.

It is not a habit.

It is my eyes which stare,

Eyes carved unskillfully on objects which see me.

You won’t call me cruel

Because you love me, and I know it

Even while I watch you

I know it

Even while I kill you, die

My widow dance would be an event

Of the highest scale

So I will walk free,

Sly criminal, covered in flowers,

Walking free.

Yes, the price one pays for freedom.

Monday, July 6


Serenade to ruins and rubble,
Play in muddy water.
Light eclipses my dread, sorrow, pain...
I must wish happiness
While I walk on earth and forget hell.
Call it an obligation of wistful smiles
This threadinng of life,
owes life to its morbid provenance.
Lay, lay, my poems, my souls;
I will write you still.