Tuesday, June 30, 2009

pina bausch, 30 June 2009

She, the world, have parted. Ouch
the landlords say--their pay decreased.
I loved what her bones could do with her--
Always the dissonance stood
beside the beauty by arrangement.
The heinous sister making the other more
marriageable: a sister learning to feel
lucky, later--elated. The work
killed, it captured, held and manipulated
by eyes it hurt, by no means honest
except that it was work and work
is honest. She, a cigarette, mounds
of earth and pubis. The increase, exposed
breast as intensity, frustration,
famine of them she moved. She moved
by manifesting hunger in each limb.
Final bough: the report of a gunshot.
Broken cradle, a down-come
baby: opportunities for the exportation
of grief. And inside every grief--
unstill living. What I leave upon her
grave is this, my vague fire--a vanilla
frailty, a file. I laugh for her here, then
shoot my rifle away from the stage.

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