She saw it and it made ashes of her heart, so she walked away and when the ruins ate her road she ran away into herself, diminishing to nothingness, and was nothing. And then the body alive, near-forgotten, became hell.
Projections and transference and all such. I call them raisins, thirst-inducing food. A little canister of rattling mockery we carry around.
Half a brick here, a scraping there –
these walls will crumble — and the little, naked,
shivering self — the world is eyes and unspeaking
mouth. I would like a silence to go away in.