Rid of Effulgence
I see the moon—flickering, broken
the sky—and am afraid.
I am a girl among men and women
robed in beauty but
without faces. Their tongues
cut; I am derided. Is there an end
to these knives? I lie
I stammer, I am on the verge
I am composed of scorched sea
foam and fire.
I am like a ribbon of weed.
When will I be
flung to the uttermost
edge of the world?
The Night is Rapt
I am roaming through the forest—plunging
pierced with arrows—and I feel uneasy.
The night is crowded with beasts and thorns.
All my senses are taut as the smell of violets
breaks over me and beckons.
I feel guilty and cold. Beneath the black boughs
I see moths rearing
among flashing yellow lights
and I hear a nightingale
by its red melody, I reel.
The darkness has broken me.
The crack in my body
This is an incredible place: oppressive
and red in its intensity.
Every moment in this abolished world
is unreal. Light glares its hostility
and metal flowers quiver with cold.
I do not have a normal body
here; I have lost the appearance of
somebody whole and only feel
a prickly blankness. This morbid place
sharpens my indifference—so I cut
people open with a knife-blade
to see a flash of their wavering
being, to see them
undergo transformation. I know
now that there is extraordinary
pleasure in cruelty.