Inemuri ( A Poem)



You are the trance of a woman

Who has not caught the grains of sand

On her sagging eye lids.


You do not sleep at all.

Do not surrender to the whiles

Of outer worldly advancements

Do not cave to the iridescence of

Moonlit rooms.



They have calld you

But you do not say goodbye.

Do not toss your spirit into the heavy landfil of

Broken and forgotten dreams

Only someone forgot you.


I alone have been there

Walked through the bareness of the snow.

Without a single piece of fabric

To hinder the touch of you.


A transient connection wavers

On call

And you whimper your exasperation.

In frustration

At this draught devoid of all imagination.


I was afraid of you once

But no more.

I have tended to your gardens

And cleaned out of all your cupboards.

I have sat with you on the porch

And stared into your sink.


I have opened my lips

And garnished the taste of you

With iced frosting.

Some meloncholy decison

For the iced cappuchino we sipped together.


Not out of fear of threat.

After all you have scorched me.

Burned my trust in you

Before I had time.

And still you say you love me.

But do you really.

What is it that you love?

Do you see love in me.

Am I a white colored image

Against a white canvas

Am I of any consequence to you at all.


You streak my eyes with your red felt tipped pen.

Frothing at the mouth

Like a filament wasp

In the summer breeze.


I am not afraid of you.

Though once I was.

Surrendering my hand

Over to the leather sting

Of your reverb

As your violence met my flesh.


You can’t kill a dying girl.

You can’t take blood out of a wound

That’s already bled through it’s home.

You can’t create broken glass

From a mirror thats already been shattered.

You can’t lose a girl a that’s already been lost.

You can’t make a saint out of a girl

Whose already canonized herself

Giving every last cent she has into the communion plate

Just so maybe God can see her

And not who she prenteded to be.


You can’t make beauty

Of a wounded plant.

You can’t pain portraits

Out of a divine monalisa

Whose already had her fix.


Turning her body over

Into the hands of a captor

That would trade her future

For a last breathe


You can’t create the feminin

Out of a woman whose womb

Has secreted the wonder of life.

Growing majestically round

By the moment


You can’t create a secret

From a myth that she’s already told.


She’s done it all

But she won’t let go.

Not until the sword stops swinging.

Not until the bell stops ringing.

Not until she’s fought

With both eyes shut.


You can’t self destruct on

The memory of a girl

Whose defined the words


Whose defined the words


Whose enveloped the word


Whose gone out with the iridescene of a lamp fire work

She is all already all of those things


~Melodic Rose~


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