In the end I was anyone's gimcrack, stung
and marginalized by moonflaw.
A time I rose like knotgrass in the raw
night. Discourse drizzled from my tongue
like allseed fertilizing an unequivocal rent
that divided my ignorance from her light.
Huntress cast a muzzle against my voice again!
(Acumen doesn't come accidental twice.)
I digested her lies, an acrid feast of doom.
Her garden became a sickbay for the wit
as I, monolith in limbo, was a perfect fit
for her jealous nature that characterizes 'Moon.'
In retrospect I was the chosen bait
for her charade. Her false beams to falsify my fate.
(Cincinnati Review, Vol.3, No.1.2006)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem