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needs to be cut in half..

Posted 01-03-2009 at 01:12 PM by sweetiepie
Updated 01-07-2009 at 09:09 PM by sweetiepie


She walks on I-95
A street woman wrapped
In a pile of muddy scarves,
Or maybe they are snakes
Clinging to her for warmth
Or cold, I do not know.
I try to see her face but
Feel looked at so
I follow her.


The new moon hangs empty.
Highway lights
And lightning bugs
Illuminate marsh grass.
The water is blood black
And the lady is stepping
Into it. I stop
On the mud bank
To count five species
Of frog and insect
Calling to me from nowhere.
Now just the back of her head,
Dull as a stone,
Floats above the gray tufts of algae,
Now, only fireflies.


Remembering to take off my clothes
Before letting my arms fall limp as sea slugs,
I step barefoot after her.
The first ripple I make
Reveals a heron taking flight
Beating his lunar wings slowly
To emphasize distaste,
And then the cypress branches
Make room for the sky
As I step to where she was,
In the middle of this ice cold draught,
But she is not here.
I do not see her.
Just fireflies and
Then the outlines of fish
Slowly form a circle
About my waist
Like petals on a daisy.
Then she is down there,
Holding me.
It's too cold to feel her touch
But I know she's holding me
Because I can not move.


I want to cry out
I love you
As bad as I want to grab
A low hanging vine
Or all the creatures below
But a promise to behave is
All I have and
It burns to think about so
I nonchalantly shut my eyes
As though I just don't see the point
In keeping them open anymore.


I don't see why
I shouldn't let myself
Fall backwards
Like into a pile of snow
To make a snow angel
Or even not to make any sort of angel.

according to the surgeon general (rusalnaia)
she is my left hand, she is dirty
i would live for myself but then that feels the same as dying for myself.
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