Uneven Dreams
I stood
in the scorpion of her
lost in the memories of her inertia
deep in the wet of her soft
flesh flushed against mine
eyes filled with emotions
tears intact
I’m sorry
I can’t love you
still moving deep into the tender
of this swan’s purple
fingers whispering
teething the flesh
from my back
like cautious candles
looking for excuses
she, the medicine
woman with juniper hands
and at the moment of orgasm
she promised me that
when she died she would
will her womb to give birth
to me in the next life
so she could love me unconditionally
and that was 17,000 years ago
when we existed as echoes
in a windstorm
on an exploding planet
two universes over
embracing the thread of her is
I danced with illusions
embroidered in mystery
murdered by many men
she too was alone
searching
unaware
walking into walls
with a broken heart in a steel cage
this daughter of a blacksmith
laying atop my easel
like a parable
interwoven into
the paper of my being
bleeding
I read her two chapters
from a book of zebras
she stopped me
said she spent
the past 400 years
giving out eyes
at the gate of a city
which strangely
explained the first
three years of my life
caught my breath
drowning
woke up in a coffin
cotton stuffed in my nostrils
eyes removed
insides empty
she was gone
and the silence
tasted like embalming fluid
on my lips
a tender knocking
like a kiss, at the door
of my conscience
it was an old woman
wrinkled and waxy
red shawl
white-haired
beaming, transfixed
I was
buddha
she handed me a liquid marble
that emitted so much light
that I broke out in tears
crying for no reason
crying because I understood
crying because I didn’t understand
cried so hard it became 1920
she, a jazz singer under red lights
dancing with strands of cigar smoke
winked
it became 1828
she now my wet nurse
smiling… I screaming
brought forward
broke her heart at the prom
brought back
broke her heart
before I met her
just so she would
keep her distance
died twice as a child
avoiding her
she aborted me once
moved to China
changed her race
just so our paths wouldn’t cross
just so our crosses wouldn’t path
until one London evening
I got a card in the post
pictured: a slim Asian woman
with stolen eyes
red robe
eyes stolen
from a lover, me
drawing circles
on the foreheads
of the dust quilted children
knitted from ether
blowing around in circles
at the gate of the city
three thousand years earlier
and in her left shoulder
burning bright blue
a black candle
waxed with tears
forever frozen black
she pulled me
into the photo
the photo fell
falling
into a small slice
of another universe
she was burning
embers floating like bubbles
above her head
pulling pins from her aura
each pin a lifetime wasted
each lifetime in the form of a song
each song an ember
each ember blazed singing
emitting so much light
I blinked
and in that instant
seventeen faces
of this same woman
eons ago
centuries ago
years ago
futures ago
and before I could say
what is your name
she vanished
and
I’m in a diner
she is serving black coffee
and donuts
to a trucker with a
white beard
and a red cap
tagged
made in China
she walked over
to my table
and gently placed
a plate with two eggs
bleeding like eyes
looking up at me
I looked up at her
have I seen you
some place before?
she said no and
walked out of the diner
like a jazz singer
like a wet nurse
like a coroner
like the daughter
of a blacksmith
she left me
with my heart
chained
to her pillow
I’m sorry
I can’t love you
maybe in another lifetime.