House Painter for a White Heart

I had known a man
for whom women were like strings
a knot instead of head
a knot instead of belly
sometimes confused between one and the other
tightening the knots faster
unwinding them minutely
until the thread was soft and straight
passing it between his fingers
according to his mood
he was dyeing it with nail polish
or typographical ink

if it was raining or snowing
he wasn’t able to throw them away
wrapping them in recycling wax
putting fire over them
they were burning like vigil lamps in a salt mine
gray drops dripping from the ceiling
until the sky was clearing up

I have never met any man like that
boasting he can cry
every time he wished for

Categories: My Poems in 2012 | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

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