(disintegration) theorem

The cradle broke.

I didn't see it coming,

spoke no words,

let my body bend -

curve over the air

turn upon recrimination

allowed the indication of my being

surge.

Tear ducts

cinder dry closed sores,

the recourse of dreaming

frightens me -

let me be someone else...

anyone

                else.

Her bones are brittle

under sunlight,

calcify through the night

until dawn peaks,

when I may retreat

from my watchful stance -

perched on haunches.

My body is a tomb

for you,

before the day is born

before I ache.

My body is barren now

turned inside out,

I can feel the skin

lining my throat

letters of apology

Haemoglobin gloats,

floats upon the water

my son

crouches on the periphery

between life and

here -

my void of being.

blankness...blankness

should he burn,

his skin peel

to be reborn

in the arms of another woman,

a mother.

These are my questions...

through shadows

I crave

heat,

warmth to cast

deep long shards of sunlight

over translucent skin.

Fever breaks as cold sweats,

rolling over the bow

of a ghost ship

Twenty-seven thousand miles

I shall crawl,

bare boned over grains of sand

carved sharply

to torture my journey

back to you,

always you,

laid sleeping on my chest

Penance.

He is my gravity,

my natural phenomenon.

Through my feet

I shall drive

two twelve inch nails

to keep me grounded.

My apologies

scatter far

and wide,

across the vista from our porch

and I know

they are meaningless

scraps of paper

in my absence.

acquiescent in essence

Splitters of you penetrate
spitefully under the tips
of my fingers,
I have tried gnawing you out
freeing you from the confines
of my alabaster flesh.

I used to be supple,
now an intransient supplicant
washed out over blackened print
of divinities frail words,
where has forever gone

It is here with you,
                                captive.

I was to be your lover
under swathes of pale
blue Caribbean water.

The body remains
peacefully muted
on a bed of palm fronds,
lips parted
as if waiting for a final breath.

I wanted to bury her
beneath the sand,
you said there wasn't time,
eager to feed a hunger.

My tears are lost,
stolen by the sea
lapping at my feet
too much salt upon my tongue.

Am I cured;
                no,
simply raw beneath the surface

Laid in the crook of your arm
eyes closed against a day
fearful of the sight of you,
my courage prefers the shade
of long drunken nights

Whispers roll as waves
across browning skin
hers or mine
I cannot tell the difference anymore.

We always were
acquiescent in essence

let the lying lips be put to silence

Don't presume my innocence
before you speak my name,
we never expected recrimination
through a halo of lies,
the ilk of nature
over nature
courses deep into the night.

Women walk
draped in velvet and taffeta,
callous - weathered
beneath breath they speak
in nakedness,
slow constricted vowels
these words...

"Let the lying lips be put to silence;"
Psalms 31:18,

...ripple across lips,
pulled back
exposing missing teeth,
rotted from the festering venom
pooled under serpent tongues.

I have been split
forked across to halves
or beings,
brittle boned and swathed
in moulding cloth,
here is my birth...

Symmetry bemoans duty,
I made my mother cry
in fits of delinquent temper
as I fell from the peddle stool.
A reflection
cracking under the weight
of a heavy or heavenly virtue

I have turned to stone

Imagery carved under skin
in ink and ash,
we knelt at your alter
alternated positions
to ease your tired back
from the groaning pain
of teaching us our lessons

morality
                humility
                                silence


I can hear music.
She danced  across the water
drifted far out to sea
to sit upon rocks,
calls out the name of
Hades,
begging for him to come -
collect her sin and take it back
beyond the river.

Her vision distorts
contorts with the wind,
aggrieved by the storm
swelling upon the horizon -
akin to the man.

We feel into you
backward until staked
upon  doctrine
upon recollection
gut symmetry.

I am not your passion,
a recreation -
reproduction,
a biological echo of your sin,
the apple of your eye

"who will make me a liar, and make my speech nothing worth?"
Job 24:25, 

pusillanimity's twin

I had been sleeping with butterflies

until bees sprung up

form between my petals

and stung you on the mouth.

Suede lust,

animal skin holds its scent,

life captured

as its ripped from a carcass,

snared in a man trap

It was a man.

He was a man before

we anchored him to wooden stakes

through his limbs,

I tied the ropes myself

until my hands bleed,

I liked the calluses,

chewed the skin

to keep the sores open

I wear red ribbons in my hair

they dance on a breeze,

conjured up by our cajoling -

howling and foot stamping

under the gaze

of a waning autumnal sun.

Lucky me,

I found my revolution

hidden beneath my womanhood,

under my left breast

before I removed it,

turning black in the sun.

But still she didn't come

to stand beside me.

pennyroyal oil tea

I have woven webs

of intricate lace and dust

into my wedding dress,

my wounds are painted in lipstick

and blush,

evensong burns on my tongue .

(Y)our  church rocks

in the wind

under the force of earth

rupturing,

 venting spirits

caught in her belly,

children never seeing light

day – night – dawn dusk,

dreams resting on fingertips

Superstitious women    

forced heather into my hands,

they saw me

standing silent at the lake

watching fireflies,

pathos in indignation.

Twisted claws -

my hands un-ringed,

cramp claims them for its own.

Where has my potassium gone,

magnesium sulphate mutes my voice

when I am lost at sea.

When I was younger we sat

drinking pennyroyal,

kissing the sun before I discovered

running with the wolves

through fields,

snow covered from September.

First frost coming

before the fashion of men

under my quilted blanket,

should I have folded back

upon myself to accommodate need

 restless under the many folds

of placid skin

Pieces have scattered to the wind

torn from my book of prayer,

I cannot remember

(Mother) Maria whispering in my ear

words of Latin tangled in my hair,

I remember her palm

across my face.

Tenderness or torment

My mind twists around your

even voices,

sane so they say

standing over in contemptuous robes

The funeral possession is slow

low to the ground,

I can be cruel

I don't know why.

Birds circle over head

waiting for bones

to become frail,

we shall all lay here alone

at some point,

slowly disappearing

into the earth

oil (crude)

I want to peek

At your oil,

Let it soil me.

Feel it slide across my skin

The slippery slick

Sick substance.

I want your sin

Spread not thinly but thick

Deep and sleek into grooves

Smooth it is not-

Abrasion gives me more

Understanding of myself

Teach me.

I felt the removal of you

From the inner confines

Of my fake womanhood,

The wake of your

Departure

Tears a wound

None can stitch

I have sown my mouth,

Knitted south the infusion

Of my being

Bleeding

from this place.

The space - vast

Cast by the long shadow

Of you

Is...

Your peak oil comes

In a rush,

Gushes

Not lengthy

But briefly.

This is a lifetime

In my time.

I am your unnatural disaster

the washateria

I can't get it clean

This unseen stain,

Perhaps I should refrain

From staring

Caring that it exists,

Consist of irresponsible

Remorse.

My mother taught me

That paying attention

To men intentions

Was the explicit instruction

Of a woman,

I learnt this while still tied

To the umbillicus.

Often I were fastidious

In my work,

Would not shirk request

No even if

It created less of me

To free from this circle.

I turn in a decreasing

Circumference of living,

Sinning sanity and staining

Innocence.

Now my mother is irritated-'

More inflamed

While I am shamed at my

Success.

I have all the money I could need

But won't buy a washer

To clean my dirty laundry

At home,

And though they stone me

As I walk along the street

I cannot retreat into shadows.

so I sit, watching the problem

Through the wet, wash, rinse

Spin cycle,

Knowing there is no repentance,

I forlorn at the washateria

Watching my reflection.