I want to sit on your
brain -
Make love to your
cerebellum. Hell, I'm
already strong - swinging from synapses
hung from broken
family trees. Please
let me sit on your brain while the words
float through shards of stained glass
memories.
I want to stave off the
sadness long enough
to let the
beauty sift through. I want to
dance the
tango with your
metaphors and
inject
images of you deep below my skin and when
that woman in the
dark dress tries to cut in,
I will say, "this dance card is full, girl."
"You best go back to where you came from!"
because beauty and
life are waiting in line
and there's a little boy with a
bow and arrow
who deserves a clear shot.
So you better step aside and let them take her
in their arms, because she deserves to dance free.
I've seen her move like
mercury - silver liquid
flowing from her fingers and toes until
the heavy lead settles in to the
souls
of her feet. And I want to be the metal worker
to melt the steel sadness - forge statues
from the scrap, make
art installations out of the anger
and erect them on the other side of the tracks
where the train races like
heroine
through a needle and the
graffiti answers
questions screamed in to the night.
And we will
scream into the night.
And we will scream the
darkness right out of her.
And we will scream into tunnels
with blackness that
hurts our eyes.
And we will scream until the echo
disappears from her
bones,
until the
nuts and bolts
disintigrate from her spleen.
And we will scream until
the
tuning fork in her head
stops
vibrating, disappears,
and leaves a soft seat for me.