Wednesday, November 10

my queen

shaving of a moon. this tiny light
is nothing in the vast evening sea.
like any other highway streetlamp it is out of reach.
as if it were the only thing out of reach to me.
(sometimes you do not feel out of reach to me.)

my children paw my sleeves,
question-mouthed, but i shake them off like snow.
i know - protect my threatened solitude.
protect my fragile halo.

i cannot package up all the things i've seen.
i am a useless poet and you are my queen.

here goes the last of my silence;
here goes the last of my interstate wandering.
here goes every fantasy of writing this down.
the seduction of being understood.
this story rots, and refuses to be laid to rest for good.

i sharpen my teeth; become slick and vast and lean.
i am the night and you are my queen.

damn a family. i cannot handle the noise.
it is only alright if i overturn the furniture myself.
do not speak to me. he is ugly and i can let him go.
(my children paw my sleeves & i shake them off like snow)

i do not have to interact. you remain unseen.
i am a hopeless loner and you are my queen.

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