you think it’s
tres chic
to smash moonlight
on my garden
your fragments
spear dark
then at dawn your incendiary
song
burnishes
zephrys that glide
your
vaginal oracle
…
extraordinary,
blood
when you hear it
coursing
when you see it
seeping
into the ground
your heart
empty
as if
it would
squeeze dry air
…
then this stop
motion rodeo
jerks into life
and your bull
brahman
is over the moon again