aayoung
a woman’s life
is too tenuous
delicate
billowy
spider web
close call on I-75
in preterm labor
on the way to the
Paris airport
in the rain
fragile
beautiful
precious
sacrosanct
finite
for bad friends
bad family
bad coffee
bad shoes
bad mattresses
bad jobs
bad husbands
bad debt
and bad dick
learn this by 30 for maximum
enjoyment
future
female
conquerors
of a dying planet
you’re a thousand poems
I’ll never write
every night you were away
i sought you out
through blackberry bramble ether
from weeping constellations above dixmyth avenue
to jessamine county barns filled with horse hay
perpetually wrapping blue ribbon around my finger
whispering vespers
my plea to the particles of the universe
to hold you together
to bring you back from oblivion
as you had done for me
you are my chosen family
inextricably part
of my thunderous heart
to which you will always hold the latchkey
he could not hide
his twisted psychology
behind his volunteering
his social networking
his name dropping
his poorly translated
banal Japanese poetry
his social work
and his damned bonsai trees
that he was a control freak
with a volatile temper
and a duplicitous nature
that he is the man in the bar rubbing his
chino covered cock on your thigh
condescending
manipulative
overly solicitous and hell bent
on getting his penis
into your vagina
anyone’s vagina
perceiving female poets
as emotionally compromised
easy targets
and if his unfortunate victim muse
was able to see his monstrous nature
through his kabuki mask
she was condemned by him publicly
as a crazy woman
of course
.
every word tumbled off
his biforcated tongue
was exaggeration
diminished reason
justification
grand delusion
half truths
folded gently
into lies
melted pretty please
bullshit buttered
sweet peas
conspiracy theories
baked into
blackbird pie
melodic compositions
leaving a dense fog
of fetid floating
musical notes
breath
Faustian
devil in the details
leading his trusting musician
to snap
an unwilling head
in revulsion
when the truth emerged bloody
before burning eyes
old lovers hell bent
would have us dress in mourning clothes
.
for them
our dead love
they will never accept
our rejection of black
.
it is an abyss
a futile endeavor
tulip bulbs planted in drying cement
unable to blossom
.
no, no
we must never yield to this
.
as it is my nature
to move forward
grow toward the sunlight
moving my body
.
swaying salome
.
swooning to the music
.
the beauty of life in every note
whilst performing
.
the dance of the seven veils