Virgo, divided

A Poem by Ewa Górski

I live off what escape provides
each fall
snap

I'm dripping out forcefully
it's sticking to my face and brain

I know that I'll be lynched
by my conscience filled locks

my chest rises a skyscraper
reaching Virgo, I suck galaxies

and I borrow a half-crown from the queen
slowly it boils to mist

laying a hand in the darkened, inside trenches
I'm carving out room to strike

the new girl, somewhat silent from
the ceaseless losses,
I maneuver her like a deserted puppet in front of a
single
spectator. I'm the hand that cracks and throws her
mutilated body
away

I'm the libertine et robuste silhouette striking
within

I'll place a penny in the palm of the next person that breathes
close and clench