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The Goose Girl
Telling my troubles to the horses head on the wall.
Friday, February 22, 2013
Bruises
I wake to purple postcards
marking the landscape
the rolling hillside
towards the cheek
where last night a river ran
straight through my legs
I will fuck your boyfriend
I am that girl
the one
who you called
slut
last night
I will fuck your boyfriend
I won't call him
at 3am
complaining about the death of my cat
my punctured tire
how I got too drunk last night
I will fuck your boyfriend
And he will come
repeatedly into my bed
or holding me against
a bathroom stall
not thinking of you
or
me
I will fuck your boyfriend
without conscience
my heart as clean as an assassin's blade
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
7:59 am
Does this mean
we're speaking?
your condescending birthday message
warning me to be "safe"
seems a poor way
to break the silence
that has built a wall of sound around me.
So what if I want to call?
What would happen,
if the gazelle chased the lion?
wanting so badly to be devoured
prey running into predator
tumbling, falling, failing
Hyenas in the tall grass
snicker, cackle, whine
circle round
nip at edges
bite the legs, belly, breasts
make short work
of the heart and soul
lions love the hunt
the chase
obliterates insecurities
the rush
fills the stomach
the pride
before
the fall
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The Goose Girl
Telling my troubles to the horses head on the wall.
The Goose Girl
The Goose Girl
Telling my troubles to the horses head and whispering them to the stove.
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Bruises
I will fuck your boyfriend
7:59 am
So what if I want to call?
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The iron stove
If you are eavesdropping by the iron stove
or standing in the shadows near Falada's severed head,
if you are reading these words
please leave a comment now and then.
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