Her Room

It is wood going to sky
cuts shatter from the wall where
the eyes echoes motionless
providing moss wild fragrance in a door.

What to stand beneath, underneath
a ceiling, sometimes windy with
sometimes-times, filled, some living
essentials: a mind, feet on the carpet.

But I see the window,
and know the jar-cap, and want the forest,
and will dissolve here/there when here
feet, hands, mind, now rest.

Sunlight, does not banish us
for digressions. Nature,
quagmire-chaos, undiscovered
epiphany-Apollo. Sunlight, I follow.

Born, walked-away-self,
left the body, found the lies
society ensnares, woman-
for illumination, complete butterfly.

Dead hints: a rumored morning. December
reminds, dispersed across what desires closure
around childhood,
the ritual of psychological dismemberment, nailed.

Yet magic transparently disperses
through the wall,
un-gendered, another issue
of form, what isn’t taught, an air
of command, electric.

Stories echo across the room.
Fixed in the wall, a window
faces a window behind you
reveals the shadows of asphalt.

Questions have dried
evaporated cracking-landscape in a sand-palm,
the absurd posture of continual-fragility,
insistence of which earth, the virtue.

All opening toward nothing
of a story’s insides,
inside you are a world of forests
the tallest trees of earth.
Come toward the window from the wall,
shadows dissolve standing beside you.

So I screamed,
wind chimes reflected,
transformations multiplied
through dimensions, aging,
myths could now surrender their minds.

Running to the door-mirror, towards
a body-clock running towards me. Backwards
merged, and we
on the carpet near the wall.

Where you were no longer
but a shape of mirrors
nothing ensnared.
Nothing to do but stand, keep living.
My body: the core-of-the-sun, iron
worship in the lie of you.

That one releases
a rain of the seasons, floods
the walking world until clarified.
Only then does the Lady of ourselves
emerge un-running from life.

The door in the wall leads outside
where in sunlight
asphalt-cars and lies
grace reality with an absent garden
trespasses perception in the directedness of fact
relief upon sharpness of the undeniable knife of darkness.

History an ignored accumulation of neighborhoods.
Friendly, obtainable for the affordable
nothing to follow about them,
but to watch, the service of the weather.

But the Lady is indefinable,
she is without a door, without a wall,
to a garden in summer sunlight.
Talking: a regardless infinity of confinement.

Please don’t remember me,
who in your service grows older
and wiser, impossible to reflect on shadows’ before.

And we will die alone;
darkness where I will be then
who am now her
what lost pathetic attempts at resting
in this room
where we are alone, together.

I will go nowhere.
I will not romanticize. I will
experience, free of
lies, free of heaven
free of hell.

Body breathing:
sunlight before me across the floor
reminds me, this, the
fruition of being
and nothing more.


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