Love turns the wheel,
The knife turns in the wound.
The stars turn in their courses.
I turn tail.
This turning world.
My turn is yet to come.
I am the clown, who falls about the ring,
And turns the children's tears to mockery.
They ring upon my ears.
I turn to stone.
I spin, I am the top.
You hold the whip.
This is the twist that turns your mind to me.
Love is the roundabout.
We ride its hub.
A wheel of fortune, spun with tears and time.
My
body gropes
In personal distress.
There was a word I knew with all my need
But I am cold,
Crouched on a doorstep.
Only my eyes beg.
A
gentle word,
A word of fire and ice.
I knew it, now it has lost my tongue.
My mouth cries hunger for a word.
My emaciated soul
Creeps on the ice, defeated.
While my hands murder
And words I do not stomach
Spit from my tongue;
A frenzy of frustration.
My
self gropes
Almost in suicide.
Like grey plasticine in a cold hand
I am yet malleable.
Freda
Davis 2009 |
