Rosemont

rosemont

like a junkie needs his drug-

or a martyr, god,

concept undefineable,

sublime and intransient;

the metaphysics of love

scatters shattered at the question.

walking down rosemont,

sticking to shadows,

head down under fire-

fierce sun above

that would strip me bare of flesh and bone

seeking my essence,

transmuting it to ash.

walking down rosemont,

hurrying past the familiar-

that shop where he worked,

our restaurant.

one glance, just one-

probing the wound with my tongue,

and gasping in idiot surprise to find

the pain.

in violence he returned to me,

moments stolen from a life

not his to taste,

pregnant he came to me,

with griefs

too many to number.

slaking his sorrow

in rape,

slaughing off the old skin

calling it love.

i am dual faceted,

janus,

haunted by my sacred host,

spectres unkind,

and whispering.


when i know,

there is no god for pharoh,

and i am the uncrowned,

walking down rosemont,

pretending nothing at all is wrong.