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.