The Two Selves
Visible in her yellow Houdini eyes
the blue sky is in splinters,
In this precarious geology of mind and mortal wounds
she possesses two minds,
everything had bled out to.
thirsty as a fossil.
One ancient like a knight flailing his weapons in battle,
in a heartbroken waltz.
Or a little girl just walking through the sunflowers,
impasto and chiaroscuro,
that twist and intertwine,
both a flesh arpeggio
unfolding like a sea anemone.
The knight wants to pierce all injuries
When the light falters and the fog rolls in.
His Poisonous gifts
of murky gutturals,
the white knife of a smile,
chewing up a mad scene
like a bad actor in a horror movie.
He is a verb refusing to yield,
aiming words like soft bullets.
Touch him and he will burn you.
The singing girl is softer,
has a translucent smile you can swim in,
composed of hope and wishful thinking,
as branches unroll their yellow caterpillars,
and a softness like marrow cells
whose language has eaten all others.
will envelop you.
Touch her and she will heal you.
The two selves are a granular pink quartz,
a glowing rock formation,
its igneous veins reaching ever forward.
A body full of juicy adjectives,
and an ache like history.
Touch her and she will know you.
RM Feb 2019