Listen:
sing and sing till your voice is a bullet
you are waiting inside
your father’s shadow
take your hands beyond
the starlight
perhaps it is the lullabies
of sheet mistaking you
for a pillow
only that there is no water in the river
anymore
and fire too is a tongue
waiting to be caressed to live
you can’t have the world
to yourself
maybe you should
give yourself to the world
your legs on the floor:
like this and like that
your tongue mistaking blood
for wine
your voice is shawled
with a magnifying glass
you will open your wounds
and make them a garden
& explain to the wind
the origin of pain