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(Photo Credit: German painter Ruprecht von Kaufmann‘s piece, Xerxes 2015. http://rvonkaufmann.com/home/)

 

 

What you do not see

Is

She

Survives

More yet

She fights

And she

Is no stranger

To anything

You offer

Or pretend to offer—

An offering of taking

Which is no charity

At all

But

An encompassing

Release of your own

Need

Without knowing

She sees

What you ask

Sees

What you take

Sees

What you leave in your wake

And

The time you are willing

To waste—

She has lived a life

Much longer

Than you realize

(Oops)

To realize

You would have to

Pay attention to

She

And forget yourself

For a while.

 

 

If you want to see

Pull out your eyes

Wipe off the lies

Squish the green between your fingers

And watch the inside

Come alive

Like maggots

Escaping

Your decaying

Cavity—

Poor maggots

Who chose the wrong feast

Forced to leave a warm meal

Inside a putrid

Beast

To follow the purer scent of

The outside world.

There is a world—

Her world

Of he’s—

Who came before

Who washed up

On the shore

Of her heart

Actually, what means more,

Of her mind—

She understands more

Than she will say

Saying it all

Never equals the

Total

(The all)

Instead the meanings fray

And tumble away

From careless ears

That stray

But tumbling away

Is not an intentional

Choice.

 

 

She sees your defenses

Imagined you might be

Different

But you

Never

Are—

He or he or he

Never was and

You are not as extraordinary

As you yourself

Quietly Deem.

 

 

So she wakes

From the dream

She hoped would persist

In waking

Instead

Puts her feet on the ground

Her head once reeling

Now

Steady in the approach

And quietly discerning

It was

Is

You

Who cannot know

How to find her

And she

Who comprehended you

And

It

(You know)

It—

The kick in the balls,

Advances and withdrawals

Infused with emotion

But cheap

Like bottom-shelf liquor

And fear

A little too raw to pull

And pushing away

Like, “I”ll go” and

“I’ll stay”—

She knew it all

Long ago.

 

 

It is no weakness

Only tattered bleakness

Fractured beams of light

In an otherwise

Consummate darkness

That teach her

Who you are.

You

Are no longer needed, dear

Disappear

If all you can muster

Has been rallied

Adjust your game

There is no use

For playing here

She will know the rules

Before you lay the cards,

Call your bluff—

You will say you are

All in

And your words—

Placid lies—

Will materialize and

Somehow

You will lose the gamble—

Your ego and

Delusion falsely conspired to

Outwit your self-illusion with

The poisonous infusion of

Naiveté to imagine

You were not playing with

Real money

Or

With

Fire.

 

 

She will tell you

The game is over—

Believe—

You don’t have to pretend

Take the dividends and

Walk away

Further—

Go ahead,

Further, go—

The house never loses,

Player.

 

 

copyright Jill Szoo Wilson

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