She lay back
into the plush green
of the meadow
with lids closed
she turned her face
to the warming embrace
of our radiant star
hands cupped under her belly
she pulled back against
the soft velvet of her skin
an embrace of singular passion
for herself
the birds in the conifers
around this arena
burbled and whistled
like the voices of so many
just outside her peripheral
always pontificating
always instructing
do this
say that
be humble
be a lady
be demure
be a pleasant decoration to the room
a china doll
wrapped in taffeta
on a shelf
not to touch, engage or hold
to be seen and admired
but not to be heard
she was to be expensive and fragile
and placed behind glass
to sit upon a mantle in the parlor
for the sport
of the rich
to be won as a prize
for expertise in misogyny

There is absolutely no one in my room
Silence wraps its body and splatters itself on my chest.
A humdrum of incessant things
like a blue moon, blue blood sinks into the well of my mind,
eating the feverish residue laying there.
These thoughts, they cringe/cling/eat
like a plant in a cold rain,
embossing a slick shadow in the earth
And so I lie naked all by myself
giving  way to this silent flower
ready to bloom candles
red/pink/colorless.
For the crevices exist in places
unknown to my mind.
And I hibernate now. / A beautiful silence/