JewelStock '96

God knows what time it is

     God knows what time it is,
     and I awakened by what?
     Perhaps a noise unsettled me,
     or a fitful dream filled with sour grapes and snowstorms.
     I could have sworn it was all covered in ice,
     limbs torn at the joints with a heavy and translucent burden.

     He was on my lips again, haunting me.
     Soiled linen, bloody and tangled, about my intestines.
     I want to get out.
     So I sit, in a sweat, a blonde flame of a refugee
     throwing up words like gravestones in the bathroom.

Poetry from JewelStock '96
Copyright Jewel Kilcher 1996
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