Originally published in Paper Moon Magazine vol. 4
Tell me the stars have left your eyes and
gone to wander, hungry-hearted.
Whisper your assurances to me,
clad in icy steel, I can see the words frozen
to the wet warmth
of your tongue.
Fate has found your quivering
body bound in regulations of your
own devising.
If you let her, she will watch
your sickly pallor give way
to fresh flushing blood, to passion
made meaning from a kiss blown to
Alecto and her delicate claws.
And I ask:
did you find safety there?
here?
anywhere?
Look at yourself, o’ wretched dog of mine!
You have been lost
to the sick cry of your empty bowl meeting faces
with the floor of your cell,
and hunger has bound the memories
of your own
strength
and hidden it beneath the quivering
creases of your eyelids.
You can make yourself
a black hole, but
it will not bring back the stars, for
they are fleet of foot in search
of new expanses.
And you can swallow the cosmos, but
haven’t you always ignored the world
bursting with life
inside you?
We are watching with open arms.
And while your ears are turned
for listening: wouldn’t it be easier to make
new stars?