Thin Ice

Her skeletal face
Her icy hands
Much uncanny between self and house
Run wild, never settle
All connections break
Mom and baby—
we never get that connection back
Says nothing about passion, desperation,
who might have saved her,
through fire
Her father, “Oh yes, the musician...”
Then under his breath
“Only an idiot marries a musician”
Mind a lot colder than many
on the prowl again
Thin ice
The crescent moon gleams in ice
Lots of city, lots of lights
It’s all about pleasure now
Cravings in the night
Fire on the mountain
Her rapid dysfunction
Their sexual practices are bizarre
even for insects
She hides in obscure wet crevices and cracks
Gleams awaken
in the night
She craves danger, fatigued
She depends on the recklessness of fools
the desperation of addicts
Melancholy disguised as gaiety
Unspoken words
only you can understand
You don’t do this at night
unless you ache
Bits of disembodied melody, violins
I know it well but
never feel at home here
She always sees the mirror
before it turns black

-August 17, 2010-