lines of poetry

I have cursed you enough
in the lines of my poems
and between them,
in the silences which fall
like ash flakes
on the water tank
from a smog bound sky.
I feel
more abandoned
than a baby seal
on an ice floe... red
with its mother's blood.
Because you saw me in your image
because you favored me
you punished me,
and I cursed you.
It was only a form of you.
My poems were seeking
neither of us knew.
We hated each other
as the soul hates the stomach
for needing food,
as one lover hates the other.
I kicked
in the pouch of your theories
like a baby kangaroo.
I would have said nonsense
to please you,
and frequently did.
This took the form
of course,
of fighting you.

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