There she is, the one the cats call queen,
the one you find fearless,
standing by the resale store
holding the rising sun in her half-curled fingers.
You quit getting stoned when you heard the trainman
blow his whistle in a nightmare at noon,
but now look--you're wasted on this woman.
Her, with her corona of crows, and pigeon entourage.
Love is lazy, chica. It sleeps cos it feels like falling,
and only gets up to set the winter on fire.
You need those ice-bones that doxed a coffin
but you're pouring yourself out like a tapped sugar tree.
I know, baby, I know. Love the buzz, hate the forecast,
but here's religion, honey, here's firecrackers on the altar:
the bright on her body, the heavens in her hand?
It all came from you. She's just a moon, reflecting,
And she blinks out every time you close your eyes.
_________
image: Chinese actress Fan Bingbing
