Relinquishing

When a soul relinquishes

her translucent beauty to savage voyeurs

like a female high in whoredom’s palace

gives herself

to wayfarers,

 

like thus, the chambers of my heart

are filled with foreign eyes.

I am a homeless, hesitating muse

of the generation gap,

and I blister the skin of my solitude like the hot sun.

 

I cannot assume that I am the Bard,

but my visions are violent, bright flames,

razor-sharp to the page.