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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476765" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Murder Me Again With Your Voice</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Murder me again with your voice, <br>the moon, your maculate heart, the weapon of your choice.<br>I am space, light, water, air, stars beyond your reach. <br>Meteor showers have been looking for my species for years<br>And still I thrive like glass eyes with real tears, <br>in the shadows of your amorous extinctions.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You can snuff a thousand votive candles out.<br>You can desecrate the shrine where I bury my feelings <br>like the small bodies of gentle birds <br>beside the ashes of the dragons that burnt out <br>like solar flares returning to the source.<br>You stab at the wind. You can try to ruin the sun <br>with a pettiness that isn't worthy of the moon <br>that sends no night bird out to look for you<br>though my longing says you've been missing for years. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nothing against you, nothing especially for, <br>though I thought I saw for a moment Bailey's Beads <br>peeking through the lunar valleys of your last eclipse. <br>And there was a time I'd trade two of my fingers <br>just to have a taste of your lips again as they were<br>when the apple orchard covered your nakedness <br>in the blossoms of the first drafts <br>that couldn't improve on you by revising anything. <br>Come the first time right, or better not come at all<br>and they fell, each more perfect than the last.<br>Now it's like French-kissing a voodoo doll<br>with pins through its lips that makes everything you say <br>the martyr of a brutal kind of unspoken curse. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Make it worse, if that's all you've got left to feel. <br>Get it out. Oxyrhyncus Jesus says that'll save you. <br>I'm an old ghost. Do you really think <br>you're my first exorcism? Boo. I'm gone <br>just like the mist off a morning lake, <br>just like a gust of stars in the lens of a telescope <br>that can bring you close, or set you at a distance <br>just like that piece of tinfoil you wrap <br>like skin around your heart as if you were saving <br>some kind of vegetable in the cold shining <br>you think of as the Pleiades on a binge of light. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Screech, shriek, rave, rake your fingernails <br>down a blackboard like an ice age in a rage, <br>like a glacial striations cut into shale <br>and ambush the mammoth, the sabre-tooth, the dire wolf<br>of twelve thousand years ago when you stole <br>the water out of their mouths and returned nothing but dust<br>like you take the words from mine now<br>that you've uprooted the garden of your own.<br> <br>Carve on me like a bone if you must, break my skull <br>like Pangaea into a synarthritic jigsaw puzzle of continents <br>and I'll do nothing but diversify my species.<br>I'll turn the scars in my starmud into calendars and alphabets<br>and wait for the next golden age like honeysuckle <br>tangled in a cedar fence after a storm <br>that strikes at itself like sheet lightning, <br>after your apocalypse has finished venting itself. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You're a white peony, not a wounded rose with thorns, <br>though you both shed the moon in common <br>to get down to the withered jester's cap of the star<br>hiding like a spider under your eyelids. <br>You kill me and you kill me deeper into life <br>not because it's me you hate, but what I refuse <br>to hate about you as a coward who turns her back <br>at the sight her own blood on her razors and wrists<br>and runs like a river system on a starmap <br>toward the emergency exits of the red giants<br>even as they're imploding under their own exhaustion <br>who promise to suckle you on the dream milk<br>of the poppies who opiate you into believing <br>you're twice as deceiving as death in Aleppo, <br>racially profiling the stars in infra red for the Gestapo.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What a silly girl you are, to expect a firing squad <br>to show up for your rescue, every time you click<br>your ruby slippers like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz<br>and tiny eyes emerge from the gigantic size <br>of the blackholes in your deathmasks like gnats <br>swept up like stars in your stillborn tornadoes on the moon. <br>It takes more than a snakepit to make someone an oracle.<br>However you enrobe it in incense and drugs<br>and mollify your fear in an exchange of syringes. <br>More fangs on a hydra-headed Medusa than there are <br>crescents of the moon lactating with antidotes<br>as if to say the cure is in the heart of the disease. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Let all those boyfriends you stole like corpses <br>from a graveyard, believing you were the artistic genius <br>who was mistress of their vital organs, rise from the dead<br>as if they'd finally learned to stand up to you<br>and making a move on your surgical flesh <br>say, hey, now, mistress, come lie down with us <br>and see, for yourself, what a heady lover death can be<br>when you don't take your cliches so seriously<br>you've rewired your waterlilies to the stars <br>until they all sting like superclusters of jellyfish <br>tasing you with the acid rain of your own tears <br>like rootfires of desire blossoming underground <br>without a flower to speak of or break through anywhere <br>you could point to and say, there, I grew that out of love<br>as if I weren't even trying all that hard <br>to stand here alone, alive, and beautiful as I am <br>not as an alibi for dying, but as an act of life<br>as indelible in its absence it is when it's here. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So go your own way with blood on your hands <br>and blessings on your head as you wish. <br>And take a last parting shot at the stars<br>if you want the last word <br>as you stand like a likeness of yourself <br>like a commission you've always had done <br>by every doorway you've ever stood in like an easel, <br>and step into a smaller realm than the one you're leaving<br>as if your eyes were too small for my windows <br>when you hurled yourself against them <br>like a housefly against a mirage in an hourglass<br>being emptied and filled at the same time.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And, yes, I will cry for you with deep regret <br>I couldn't die for you any better than I did, <br>and you couldn't live for me<br>just for the cheap thrill of it.<br>And then I'll wipe my tears on my sleeve <br>where my heart used to be <br>and make my comic entrance into the next world <br>laughing like a sacred clown at the sublimity <br>in the enlightened madness of it all<br>as you back up like a tragic exit into yours, <br>troubled by the punch-lines in your nightmares <br>you never got.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476765" data-title="Murder Me Again With Your Voice de Patrick White" data-description="Murder me again with your voice, 
the moon, your maculate heart, the weapon of your choice.
I am space, light, water, air, stars beyond your reach. 
Meteor showers have been looking for my species for years
And still I thrive like glass eyes with ..."></div>
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