Prabhujee

this morning I watch the moon in
reverse

I watch the moon in
rewind

a star cast over our heads and houses

all calls for heat and
light

(and voices draw the sun)
(and voices draw the sun)
(and voices draw the sun)

(prabhujee)

The 'Catherine'

is despair; the drop of a sullen
mouth, the ill-fitting suit you have to
wear

"I took one for the team," you laugh, but there's
a hard, barbed truth in
there because

The 'Catherine'
is unfair; the requisite of a shunned
girl, the ill-sitting proof of her
fear.

At the 21st

a photo pops up of
Grandpa
and it is obscene with his
madness

I want to howl
'TAKE IT OFF'
'TURN IT OFF'
'THIS IS TOO MUCH'

but I don't
and it's gone

When She was a Man

she ran on other fuels.

Scanned horizons with another set of
eyes, prized another set of tools;

the boot, the sword.

Her action was as good as her word and
when she was a man she sang a darker
song, a long one, mournful and strong and
she stretched her nerves to the length of her stride.

Split the width of her fear with pride
and plain pursuit,

her sword, her boot

set firmly, yet fleetingly,

at the foot of a hill,
at the side of a sea,
at the edge of a cliff,
at the root of a tree.

Cool, Glassy, Dolly-girl

who smells like lollies and
looks like lies

black hair coiled about a China
face, dazed disdain ingrained
in her brow

flushes of brushed-on rose at
each cheek, lips of split
plumb part reluctantly to tell you

the tedious details

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