I was wondering if the scarf made last year
feels warm and soft to your neck
holding above the chin I have bitten and kissed
or
if the Victorian blanket I knitted
covers well your knees
the ones I caressed when they were sore and bruised and bleeding
or
if you’re still listening to
the carol I sang in a lower key
walk with me into the polar night
cold is the new heat
didn’t you know?
you like to watch blood penetrating the snow
do you want to touch it?
the climate will change
the oceans shall rise above our chins
and turn our fur to white
the sun shall linger under the horizon
patiently restrained by strings of darkness
the sun shall never come up!
The Great Art overlooks the killing, that is a spoiling of the eunuchs
Instead she watches the breaking of a finger, and
The Great Artist always chooses the little one.
It’s a fact. Every woman is, from head to her little finger
An impossible being. Therefore her breaking is a gift
You have it or you don’t, the rest is about exercise
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