Caesura 1

I spend late morning 		              in the studio. 

I rushed here		                      following a dream 

my plaster forms had fallen and shattered,

but they didn’t. 	               They’re standing, pale, 

inert. 	 			                        Two figures

in dense violet light, 		              without light.

One is all fragment. One                          isn’t there. 

The fragments: 		                     my two hands 

clutching & touching 		           the air, separate, 

impaled on rods 	                of steel & held upright

by mounds 				              of gravel. I try

to wrench		            my finger from the image 

and fail,		                 I’m all posture. Eros doesn’t 

consider 				                           moderation

& the work has three titles, each                   the same:

“Caesura,” 	             “Memory,” “I Held Her Throat 

So That I Could Guide Her Earlobe To My 

Reverent Mouth.” I think 	                 of the women

I have known 			                      and the women 

to come, how I’ll keep myself 	               from them. 

I can’t help but laugh,		                the way I say it

without conviction,                       I’ll hand myself over.