Dear Girl,

Sweet creature,
your wasting away.

Did you sleep?
Or did you die then?
Did you sink into his heart?
or dissolve completely?

Rejected, you are caught;
tangled in his hair.

And although grief
has unlocked your throat,
you are no louder than
the milky chatter of pearls.

So let Karma twist your body
however he likes,

May his greedy blue eyes
     protect you.

*

Born of the earth;
He is a feast for the human soul.

His father is a velvet fungus,
who invented the cult of domesticity.

His mother is pregnant
with crisp autumn nights,
and speaks to him in
the language of the
sun and the moon.

He lives in ancient waters,
with the singing oracles
of passion, pain and pleasure.

He drives the heartland express
and his air freshener smells like musk.

He collects squished whispers from your ceilings,
and feeds them to you until Sunday morning
comes to take him back.

J.B.

“Just like sparrows,

you'll never see one dead.

Must be millions of them,

but you'll hardly ever see one dead.”

    “What happens to them?”

“They get over it.”

    “Over what?”

“Over being there.”