mis-carriage

we talk of what might be real
how brave we are
we can remember, foretell
ourselves, our other selves,
the selves from before
we are children climbing trees
planted in the corpse of that old man's ghost
we are playing on tamsen
donner's broadcloth skirts
on washington street
it's 1979

the sweet rage & the bitter choir
why don't we know each other?
just one story, told over and over
broken, the foetus in the wind

you have carried off
what I imagined as real you
have informed on me
to the authorities the firing
squad is being organized
everything was a disturbing
memory in my mind there
is an unfinished house
falling apart the decorator
called it an abortion
but it was really more
of a miscarriage

the limb broke
under our weight
the kiss interrupted
savage love