Thursday, January 8, 2009

Blue Realms

She stood, baby girl, with her baby curls smeared
With the scented shampoo of her mother’s drawer ---
In the doorway, dripping nose, and awkwardness
Not quite for the reason that was her hair or face.
Somebody tell her what will happen soon to her,
Somebody whisper to her pink translucent ears.
Somebody hold her, and tell her she will be alone
Somebody love her while she is still not gone.
In this hyphenated expressionless pasture,
What does one anticipate except more fear?
What does one hold on to but more insignificant years?
What can anyone do…but hate…hate… and bear?
The hand that holds her is never fatigued,
The grip merely shifts from lucid to stiff.
The words never fail to tell her to obey
The lips only defy what a human might say.
Might hey…

Don’t watch me fall, don’t watch me flinch,
Don’t watch me bleed my redundant stitch.
I am bleeding on your white clean floors,
Something your moon-grey roof can’t reach,
Something the sky in your land never will…
Only obsess with blood to swill…to spill…
To swill, to spill.
To swill, to spill.

This world is the fortune of no-man’s land,
Upon this dirt, the mesh of truth stands.
The watchtower safeguards the fumes
In the horizon that harbors the bloom-
Of the end of a baby’s first dream
And the beginning of her small realm.

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