street poem number 1

I am waiting for you at the Isle of Lesbos,
My gay lover
The one who remembers a flower every day for my grave
I am waiting for you young woman inside every moment
When you think you have lost your self love to the years
I am waiting for you underneath wet woodland bracken and
Ageless dripping moss
I am waiting for you at home in the big black oil slick of night
The empty evening is full of music and the music loves herself
She is different like sounds can only be different if they are from the
Gut. This land that you feel so broken in is not a empty land, and my hand is not an
Empty hand. I am waiting for you where women love each other and are not ashamed.
If I told you how many poets died writing about their women you would laugh.
They died on battlefields laden with snow and blood they died cumming in their pants
They died laying rapt in bed and some died reading the newspaper. The men that wrote on naked vagabond walls about their love laden hearts.
My mother lied when I was young, she told me her love was perfect. Yet her love died within me some time ago. I am a woman. I write different poetry. Poetry of the self, not of another.
The woman in space spoke to me of my mother…she was a resonant beauty the oil on the slick that looks like a rainbow…
….she was a doll fitted with a metal bra and false pride. The unseeing bastards of childhood preach of Jesus, yet there is no woman I love more than her.
My blind eyes cannot see but the music reaches my soul. I live in darkness here in Darkness here in the place where I cannot see. This is the street. It’s not romantic.
This is the street and sound becomes my only word. Walk. Pace. Run. Dance. Sway. Do not cover your ears, yet your eyes have been abandoned.
I write poetry to someone I never saw, to someone who never held me, to someone who never kissed my lips, yet I love her less with my soul than with my body. My gay sister who was Athena. The pride we lost when women became no better then cattle.
Music reinvades my consciousness and I feel the lost love blues.
No more wet mornings of youth feeling like I was a goddess lost In time or an angel left behind. Lost Innocence loves me forever.
To be left behind in darkness is all I need…some woman out in the alley says, whores all of them, throwing their lives away for their next meal. The darkness cant be a real place it’s a metaphysical landscape where junkies pass out beneath neon crosses. And God denies his woman, Eve, that bringer of sin, was framed for her beautiful body and her ignorance…I wait for her alone and alert under the sun. My budding goddess of glory, my sinner, Eve, my lover