Poem

His ghost keeps my bones from dancing in the streets
His face like a shadow hides in the creases of my dreams
and keeps my lips mute
and keeps my skin cold
and keeps my hips ashamed
and burdened by his sin.
Something about the sanctity of loneliness
puts at ease a retching heart that marauds alley
streets coughing from the ashes of lost loves.
One day I will shed the weight of his hate,
carbon copy on my skin, a rash of cinders
around my raw eyes.
One day I will shed this weight. I will be light.
I will dance the torment out of my bones. I will
wring them dry.

12/13 February 2013

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