Mother Earth is Allowed to have Strands of Hair in Her mouth
It was a planetary discussion about birth times.
The forecast was a face I knew could be my
ancestor when Pisces swims in his Sun and
Moon, yet strange Aquarius rises to slam
the bedroom door after playing Eminem
in random nonchalant disorder the way
fire and water lack rigid symmetry when he
says Kick-Bo will stop him falling to the
ground. If he falls, the stage props the familiar
right side of his brain with manga sexuality
never out of reach like an imaginary
hand held over his mind's eye, then drawn
on all those sheets of paper. Some he
shares with easy Mother Earth.
She says its ok to leave strands of hair
in her mouth, perhaps even, a little dirt.
Medical dictionaries have an unsubtle
way of telling my truth.
It will never be yours. I've read
the affidavit. Didn't you let loose
considering you say peace is harmony
because you want to retain some respect
for being mistaken for somebody
you'd like to be but you've really tipped
the scales and your balance
is the cost of being a taciturn control
freak whose idea of peace is cold.
Month after month after month
you'd get your revenge
when I phoned begging to see my kids.
You'd say no.
I'd cry and you'd say I was sick.
It is grief
and Eric, you're a pig.
Did I mention what Circe did
on her island. All those men charmed into thinking
they were men.
They were pigs
but Circe's changed her name since Centrelink
keep ringing about Child Support Payments.
I had it reviewed
even though you'd like to think I'm your financial planner.
Remember the time I threatened to resign so you phoned
As if she'd talk when you've been banned
from nurses' conversations.
They've noticed my uniform is unironed.
My fringe is not a fringe anymore.
Soon, my hair will be long,
then I'll cut it short
even though its you who'll be bald
as a pig snorting Mittelschertz
when I'm still losing clots,
like how much blood
do you want?
The Damage Could Have Been Worse
A few days after he left, when I nearly felt safe,
when relief saturated my voice,
I talked about Zen to myself.
Living with Koans is almost possible now the phone
is silent because it has no choice. It rattles
if I pick it up, as if its been badly shaken
and won't talk about the attack. My brother said he dreamt
he saw me hanging from a rope.
He walked past my house two days ago.
The man whose hair is longer than seven veils
was there even thought seven planets spin
in the atmosphere somewhere above earth.
My brother wants to know
if I remember being in the basement with Mercury,
if doppelganger have anything to do with imagination.
I have to explain the damage
could have been worse. Above the oven, there is cold
exhaust from smoke stuck to the cupboard door.
It's the result of my cooking, not the igniting
of an unholy flame.
Annihilation is my slept upon arm
in the Egyptian red sleeveless dress
with its blood rust petticoat
transient as the seams
tear holes in my psyche
screaming I want you
I want you
I want you to kill me
like you did when you were blind
Osiris dancing naked on the lounge room floor
I felt the puncture marks of desire
held together by that leather belt
you buckled round my waist
it was black as an unfinished statement
somewhere at the back of your mind
all those former lives
into irrational numbers
the last temptation
knows nothing about the bones of a saint
when you're sucking
on my throat.
And Now For Some Romance
The Book of Breathings teaches gods
how to weep like a man finding the moon
nestled in his cupped fingers gently
arched where his knuckles rest against
her pubic bone, where her hips flare
all the way to Egypt, where Isis dresses
Thoth with the alchemy of raven blood
brighter than the diamond tears gathering
in Trinity's throat moaning to the sound
of fingers polished shiny by the vulval
flood drenching their breath into that
(c) Alison Daniel 2001