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A sequel to Craziness
Before the moon swells, and a god untangles a knot
at my thighs, and my room smells blue
in summer & mistletoe, my grandmother
sings in my ear the loneliest things.
She means to tell me: the girl in the moon
will sing you something lonelier, you are always
thirsty when you wake, are you not?
She means to say: do you know why the woman in the
red dress sits near a quiet man?
There is a longing between your teeth.
You do not learn to be soft without the eye of the wind.
That is: we burned all our cities to bring us here, when the mouth
said volcano we burned our bodies to call the night a witness.
We said: come be a joker in the spot where our
bodies turn light & song into miracles.
Who can break lust just by surviving the day?
Do you know how much wind bleeds before there is a tongue to call it rain?
You will not ask her name but she will
tell of her body anyway, tell you: you taste like God when ripe,
tell you men are artists but pigs also get horny,
say you smell like burning cities in Singapore.
Yet, the day is almost night &
the girl singing in the moon
has not said a word to you.
Everyone under a disco light is moving like puppets:
she says, do you know why a woman who sits
with her legs crossed is called a ballerina?
In your head all of it is gone: your diary, the wind, the thirst,
the thirst.
The wind is a blur in red, the Cinderella spin-off, echoing
every memory loss:
where did Cupid go?
Who has let the shapeshifter through the curtain?
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