Shakespearean Folk

twelve.

Moss grows over your eyes

When I speak so softly of my ghosts

Moss grows over your eyes

And I'm gone away

Mama say, you're bad for me

Mama say, Mama say

And moss grows over your mouth and 

Over your ears so

You can't hear me drowning 

In so many garlic flowers

In the scattered scraping of lizard feet

Beneath sun painted yellow trees

You were just a mirror in the grass

I sat beside

And watched the sky move

Like a kaleidoscope for days

But I moved too close, too soon

And caught the light reflected

In my gaze

And the world went sort of 

Still and white 

And blind

Heaven is so many garlic flowers on my mind

And I'm gonna drown 

And I'm gonna stay

Mama say, you don't love me

Mama say, you never will

But I watched you from my windowsill

And ran into a stranger's sun, shaking its head

To meet you, meet you

Standing tall and slim

In almost comic opposition with the dead heat

Of the day

You were just cool water at my feet

I sunk into cool water whispering

With too much intent

Water that made dagger rocks

Feel sweet and smooth

And dense

I crept through them, quiet and numb 

Till my hair stretched out

Beneath sun freckled leaves 

Smiling coyly on the surface of the stream

Let my head rest back against the surface

Of the dream

Floating pale fingers

Floating pale dress

You say love is abscess, 

But love is blood in the water

And I grew ashamed of my baby flesh

Ashamed 

To look on the narrow mountain pass

Of your nose, still

Turned away from me

I didn't drown, I sunk 

Deep into the ground

With garlic flowers falling all around

Littering the seedy shadows of the river bank

Ashamed 

I climbed drenched into

The outstretched arms of

The retched, river drunk ground

Soaking pale fingers

Soaking pale dress

Caked in mud

While mama threw white roses

On my face

You dressed all in black

You dressed all in eyes so grave

And I'm gone away

But Mama stand so solemn at my feet

Mama say, sweets to the sweet