WOOLF AT THE DOOR
WOOLF AT THE DOOR
‘my Jew’ she called her husband
whom she loved unfondled and unfucked
platonic but with women
authors mostly, berries from her blooming bush
fucked up by her half protective brother …
novelist feminist racist elitist modernist
sustained by waterscapes and waves
until she pocketed a stone to sink
deep in her stream of consciousness
leaving her Jew an apology …
so many maiden imitators,
avatars, bodhisattvas, tulkus, plagiarists
but suicide still stymies samsara …
her words are hard to follow.