9 Moons

[Ashes, Munch]

9 Moons

1.

my fingers are blades
that slice mythologies

my fingers also worship your thighs.

2.

words are an orgy
in the castle
she built with her eyes,

tonight she may declare war
against the lovers
from dusty epics

tonight she may draw out
the noose of lyrics
that has been lying for long
in her closet

among the laces
from her third wedding.

3.

let the camera
sink like a stone
in the lake at moonshine

let my axe sink
into the moon man’s wooden legs

let us all watch the movie
in funereal silence.

4.

old man from Pluto,
you are the monarch
of all the windows in the city

your torn body
was always a friend
to war pilots

who landed in obscure forests
and heard the voice
of sacred lions.

5.

february turns in your ears
like a choir warning
of love and treason

wash her feet
wash her torn feet,
with the storm
you stole from the ektara

let her sing
to the ship that carries away her sleep
in many tiny boxes of rich wood.

6.

when your voice
crawls up ancient towers
of stone or bones

and is heard
in far away rivers, railway yards
and cities with cold asylums,

I know your womb
is charged then
with a foetus of rain

and that
you are invulnerable at last,
my acid girl..

7.

when you slaughter a robot
at midnight,
its soul knows of it
only the morning after.

8.

there was sulphur in those eyes,
and a dooryard of blue lions

spies followed her
as she traversed the country of mirrors
with a secret code
in her spine

she would dine with the prince
in his castle of salt and war crafts
and reveal her code to him

but the troops of the stone king
swooped upon her
in the lane before my house in this city

I seized the radio,
turned to the moon,
and stretched out my arms like a lover

and when the bullet stroked her waist
she morphed into a fox
and took refuge
inside the moon radio.

The camera pans 9 days;

now, only I
have her code

now I have usurped
the prince’s spine,

and my spies tell me
they have seen her twice,
flying a war craft
over the Ganges.

9.

my fingers stroke the thousand moons

inside your body of
curly wet leaves.

my fingers also remember
to slice dictators.