two tightly laced wet pigtails fastened with pink bows over glasses

two berrybushes of eyes, ten fingers to play the toy piano—

sweet fingers, dark as pepper

(tender teapot of ink and skin)

the little girl

becomes the silvery smile, tiny swaying gold earrings

sketch the shape of the girl

with pencil-thin fire

make her your fountain pen, fill her with the acrid swelling of old ink

rewrite her across the page of your flawed memories

and yes, the loneliness of a girl swells

like ink from the depths of a fountain pen

write her down and be prepared for when she bleeds

and all the letters

begin to blend.

earth and air/and water/and the universe—

her body, shaking like rain,

begins to awaken

an empty space behind moons waiting to be filled

call her by her hundred names

(the girl, the girl)

warm and wet, a tidal pool—

curl of languid, secret flesh

awakens as moons

grow in the sky, in illusions

only to fade out.

You who hide away make me face the past on my own

in all that could be and never was and never will be

 and I am trapped, yes I am, in the past only rarely

 and she leaves me crying because she calls me lazy

 you’re a creature of summer, scared of rain in the lonely darkness

oh let’s continue in the soulgame

and make me a free-spirited idiot

who eats her soup with nightmares

and are you under the bridge

are you a fork with prongs or are you a lovely little woman?

You are a lovely little woman,

but there’s something about the girl that disturbs you,

but there’s something about the girl that disturbs you.

Something about the girl disturbs you.