Saturday, November 6, 2010

Elle

She
Is not like anybody
or anyone
but similar and familiar
not unlike the dimple
on the dark side
of the moon,
OUR moon!
The one we sat on
when we got drunk
on each other's words
and vertical smiles
of some sort
She
is bright
like a hundred suns
but half as abrasive
and twice as decisive
She
contemplates,
calculates
and measures
with steely eyes
and anal-retentive
precision
the width and depth
of her open wound,
tosses the dice
in its surroundings
and then arrives
standing on one leg
at the hasty decision
to ignore the matter
and slam-shut the issue
only to slip
a short time later
and fall heart-first
time and time again
on the remaining scar tissue
uttering noises,
loud voices, grunts and hisses
like the fucking rain
in Spain
which dances
mainly
on a rusty zinc roof
instead of the plain
like the tongue twister
mistakenly explains
She
clutches a fistful
of emotions
like dead roses
with live thorns
that bleed and linger,
dead ringers
with knots and horns
for knuckles
and wooden sticks
for fingers
She
Looks into the emptiness
of my tired eyes
and my crooked smile
and manages to find
a few words
worth climbing into
worth hanging on to
worth stumbling over
She
Says "I am"
and "forgive me"
too many times
so many, in fact
to make me suspicious,
which I already am
She
sleeps with the fishes
writes like an angel
cuts like a pair of scissors
drops kick like a ninja
curses like a sailor
looks like a princess
fights like a pitbull
disregards rituals
dreams in full color
with her legs wide open
to a faint notion,
an infatuation,
a capricious desire,
an obsession
so strange and appealing
in her eyes
worth giving
more than
her attention
and a few tears
perhaps
a few years,
perhaps a few months
perhaps none
She
Is true-blue
and hell-bent,
determined
and resolute
Content?
Hell no!
She
says She can't be happy
all of the time
I used to think she would
if she only could
but these days
I'm not so sure.











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