I have stolen everything about you.
When I set my ear up to your chest
I hear a bog filled with phantoms.
I steal your diamond ring
to cut the glass
to rob you blind.

In the mud
in the mire
rushes fidget.
I have folded into my trench coat
your missing pigtail
and concealed myself between your empty ecstasies.
All the passings by
limping on your heron legs
leaving crooked footprints
dusting the weeds with the dander
of your ghost skin
falling apart gradually
into delicate petals.

Here with me
are those indecent longings
that I have snatched
from your trunk
still as ragged as crows,
delighting me
with their scratchy claws.

I have watched all the while . . .
closer than you might imagine,
patting my pocket,
sinking like a golden moth
beneath the horizon of the earth.


Filed under: Poetry, Psyche Comments Off
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