Wednesday, October 19, 2005

To the man in the folds

Misster said: ‘Oh but it is hollow
between what might be you
and what was me’

Do you say things late at night
when you are not yourself?
When you are shapes beneath the
sheets, when you are wet roads
and hospital bills? -- Ray wonders
to the alien baby in the jar
full of light.

‘I birthed it’ How odd for you
to own birth, Misster,
like the time you dreamt
of carrying to term the fetus
of yourself, born male of female.

‘Can I hold you like spoons can I kiss
you touch you are so beautiful’
But I am spooning through to your
interatrial groove, to fill
aching cavities of the heart
with love and blood to mend.

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