I Followed A Swan

I followed a swan to a lake
where I ended up
on the patterns that
mean loneliness in my tongue,
which I wrap around the wood
under my feet
and when I jump,
the waves ripple gently around those feathers
still cloying my stomach in one enormous lump
[if I were a whale,
I could make pearly gold out of them,
which I then could cut out of myself,
leave it in the sun to dry,
as it has been done for many years,
I hear].

You could see my insides
as well as yours|elf
and what a sight it would be,
if you would care
to take off your white blindfold
and burn it,
so I could smell the stench of burning hair,
taste it
while it lingered in my throat.

You would wear your dress
fashioned from your own skin,
like so many of your dresses,
spinning yourself dry
rather than revealing yourself
like the swan’s sister
in that particular story,
which you won’t remember,
as you don’t even know it,
I’m sure.

It is the You and the I it gets down to,
when you peek under your scalp
and when you look at that lump of bones from my stomach
– or the other way round, it doesn’t matter.
it doesn’t matter,
it isn’t matter
at all,
you know.
It is the You and the I.

The You
the I.

I Followed A Swan

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s