here at the grange
here at the grange
they are digging up the Truth
you can see it on their faces, the desert loving
in their hands
there are fingers under the earth
also pulling the doors shut.
there I was running down the hallway
hoping to find a door open
and a woman naked behind it
but this was not the truth
so I reached up my fingers
to try to hold the doors shut
but they didn’t listen, they didn’t
care
so they pulled me up — they broke my arms
in the desert loving feel of their hands I could tell
they were digging for Truth
‘Got you!’ they exclaimed in joy when I surfaced
‘We saved you from the ****’
I stared up at their faces
there was no naked woman waiting for me
but here I was, a naked woman
thrown in laughter on the ground
spare change
in our pockets searching
for change to hand
the world —
change —
while underground we are digging out
our hearts from their own soil.
tubers of love, unfurled
breathing open, swollen
with the rain.
& dirt.
this is our fertile season.
this concrete forest
this ever-opening techno-lotus,
many-thighed
gleaming white at night
giving to all strangers
of our food. & light
needles glimmering in the drain —
and we are lost, laughing
in each other’s arms
stumbling over paper-maché
this world crumpled, beneath us
the chin of stars
crumbling.
feet falling.
emerging in daylight,
half-awake, unseen
unreal to this world
& the next
‘nearly dead nearly red’
you laugh, pointing
to my elbow
pierced skin, finding
spare change
in the drain
nearly dead nearly red
in our blood
we are free
again.
watch this space
what do you want, after all
more of silver tampons
red disasters roused
quietly under fingertips?
bombs oiled
under skirts & armpits,
awaiting
an excursion into sunlight
letting go
letting go.
‘wait for me’
where?
in the tiled kitchen,
arms folded
in our blood the salt
now quietened?
in our breath fogging
the polythene
of each other’s dreams
unanswered
this quiet war
will never end,
you said so
yourself
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