And this is "Scatterings Two."
So now, you know about the other world.
The rude, fucking, twisted limbs like dead roots
yanked from the ground, the gaping holes.
You see how trust is not something
given to everyone at birth, like olive skin or a strong will
and never withdrawn.
It's as transitory as light waves
that scatter through this thin, blue glass an artist
uses to design windows.
You can see the mix of booze and shards on the other side,
stark and black, fist closed tight gripping nothing more
than cracks.
Now you can see the way a woman's soul can slip back
to its resting place, even before death.
You now know why I was never able to speak my love.
I never wanted you to have knowledge of tortured bodies,
mind splitting with the slightest external pressure how
certain women crave so much, that first inward turn
of the blade.
To grow new skin is exactly the same as ripping off the old.
It is not prayer or hope, this struggle,
but the frenzied digging of ancient bones,
breathing them to life, only to shatter them on the ground
again and again and bury it later.
I fear you still have no idea what I am excavating."