cobalt

She said,
They all want to sanctify me,
to turn me into an effigy, a myth.
They want to idealize me and pray to me,use me for consolation, comfort.

Curse my image, the image of me that fades me everyday
with the same over fineness, over delicacy,the pride, the vulnerability which makes people want to preserve me, treat me with care.

Curse my eyes which are sad, and deep, and may hands which are delicate,
and my walk, which is a glide, my voice which is a whisper,
all that can be used for a poem,
and is too fragile to be raped, violated, used.

An actual statement stolen from somewhere else...

She was trembling in my arms. She felt very small.

She looked away. I thought she was looking for another cigarette. Then I saw she was crying. I could feel her crying. Shaking and crying. She wouldnt look up. I put my arms around her.

I could feel her crying as I held her close.

She would not look up. I stroked her hair.
I could feel her shaking.


I had no girl

whose disembodied face floated among the dark cornices and blinding trees,
and
so

I drew up the leaf beneath me,

tightening my hands.