Today I shaved my head
knowing I am not your animal
Before life
was splendid,
your blood,
that red metamorphosis,
could become
within me.
I wanted more. More
distortion, more
more ramifications,
more attacks.
A cosmology
of sperm and eggs
a bestial desire
eating us, insatiable,
insisting on its own
on everything
we could have been.
A red miracle
eating my skull
and the pain within it,
a kind assassin
bathed in April beauty.
Then you sentenced me
to forsake your body.
The awakening was brutal,
much more brutal than the blood
had been splendid.
Not being your animal
what was it like to be a woman ?
Not the usual whistles
in the crowded streets
about being sexual
and sulphurous.

What is it like
not to be yours ?

it tastes like hell.
Every morning I see
hurts me.
Every night shines
like a razor blade.
But today,
in the october light,
while I put a limit
to my wildest senses,
I thought
the machinery of me is over
the woman is over
I’m not more
than a mare
I thought
about your palms
and the fragility of my skull.
And I realized
even led to the slaughter
horses never grieve.