4.04.2016

Astrape Undone




Astrape Undone
From a cold bath I walk into the storm,
Waiting for electric winds to blow 
my hair dry.
A dark dress whips around my thighs.
Branches rush from my arms.

Yes, I am powerful these days.
And alone. And lost.

Sparks flash in the corner
Of my eye. Men are hungry
before they look, burned
after.

One streetlamp extinguishes itself. Another explodes.
My stained lips twist like roots. 

The air and moon are with me now,
Empty-handed, a futile crowd:
Grandmother night herself 
Is no match for this grief.



photo by Peter Patau

more on Astrape here

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