Palative Care Said the Blind Woman To the Sighted Man Holding Her Breast

Palative Care

Said the Blind Woman

to the Sighted Man

Holding Her Breast

My moon is cut perfectly in two

the dark blind side up in the sky

where all the starlight can’t light it

but can, in all their distances, be

more honest than the still hours

this rising sun allows when she

comes.  Maybe, I wonder, maybe

the moon and her robes of gravity

were given when the creator pulled

away, after being called back

to wherever creators are called back

and there was an anxious patting

of pockets and a search for some

sign and when she touched her

mammoth breast she pulled it away

kneaded it back into shape, and hung

it above us, giving it to us so we'd feel

dizzy when we looked up at the mad
whirl before everything

went black.  It’s absurd, yes, ok,

to think this lit rock is the old façade

of an ancient ruin, ok, sure, but listen,

you’d be spinning off into noplace

without her, you and your pissy little

stream, so sit down and don’t look

up.  She’s there, I know, and shit!

I’m blind.  See? Ha! I look just

like the one who left all those time-

less times ago.  You’ve unbuttoned me,

see?  You’re holding it all that cold sun-

light in the palm of your hand.