Morgana Rubini. 3 poems.

Eulogy for Our Lady Desire.

Your rooms quietness with some amber secret life
All low, all nervous//
I never remember the mornings
But I remember - the feel of the floorboards,
shape of your mug, clementine window light
Bed, duvet - washed clean - you always seemed clean.
How Time misplaced
Left like an insomniac, three nights on the trial.
Going home with a heaviness
Enjoying its weight//
Now lifted, now lightness, now freedom//
If you asked I would have said
Freedom for me means something else, its//
Sit down, sit down.
Speak for me, Like a mouth is an alter
When I was 19 I used to bind together my knees
Or feet pressed to my back, like a suckling pig.
Or those days when all I needed was to go to the floor for someone
To make a mess of my knees
To live off the bliss of that unreality//
How to stop something already embodied
How to untangle a mess of limbs
How to turn off a brain,
Never-ending washing machine, time to stop spinning.
Cant some things be good for their singular goodness
Can’t we decide to stay with some confusions
Like choosing abstraction, like achieving some state of melted
Cream starting to curdle
Halting is painful but haunting more so
Too still too long
Too long too good//
To love is to love is to love
But still
But still//
You think lovers is some forward thing? -
Continuing in a never-ending momentum
It keeps getting better
Up and up, better, better//
Head spinning, stomach sick, acidic breath so sweet.
I must learn of desire not as escaping the self.

An Ode to Dysphoria.

To look at my chest sometimes hurts
To be marked by that beautiful blooming
Lumps of dough waiting to be mangled
I put a hand mirror to my crotch and feel strange
Staring into that confusing abyss
I wish to be like Tiresias or Orlando
From trousers to taffeta to silk knickerbockers
To whipcord breeches and leather coats
I dream of cyborgs with metal blood and bones and tin flesh
Of smooth lumpless, bodies
Perfectly ambiguous aliens
I dwell in the comfort of unspeaking unmoving objects
Unable to look away from a singular shoe discarded
Pressing my face to the floor
Moments always feel like forever to me,
And just the same, time is always disappearing
Darting away like a sewer rat.
I think I might put more love into food than humans
My papa's birthright
He didn't say I love you much but he fed me every night
He would sit me on the counter with an empty pan and spoon in my hands
So we could move in unison, as he stirred the ragu
And he would translate Italian love songs:
come se dopo tanto amore
like if, after so much love,
bastasse ancora il cielo
sky was still enough
I grew up in my brother's hand me down boxers,
Till a trampoline exposed me as other
To my Lacy White-Panted counterparts
Confused when I began to grow breasts
And my brother's chest
Remained perfectly flat
I would fantasise about growing a penis and a tail
Never sure if I wanted it all or nothing
Craving to be viewed as woman, as whore, as baby, as boy, as man, as human, as not,
as nothing, as nothing
To become a-gender feels a step closer to a sort of non-identification
An un-perceivability

A slipping through the fingers
Never taught the difference between discomfort with my body or the concept of a
I am always craving bathrooms
A favourite of the repulsive
A hotspot of grossness and abject
Locking the door and disappearing
Hidden, not yet forbidden
Sometimes it feels I need sex just to be a step closer to that
Sweet Objectification
My leather armchair dreams
Sleeping with people feels like devouring
Without the strength to do so.
How unfair it is to live in a body that never does what you want
I would fuck myself if I could
But I know it would mess me up
Would it be violent or soft?
Would I stand tall or go down on my slutty knees
Would I look away from the body or adore it?
I am trying to conquer this nothing
Trying to rebuild after disintegrating
Trying to find the space between the two lines of traffic
Trying to stop adoring my walls
And Constantly running away
And after all that, I shall try and learn how to be a body.

Here Three Bodies Lie

Love only finds me in the tangible now,
So that the moment my lover leaves,
I can no longer conjure him,
Desire only appears in the fantasy world of the future
So that you* - I can imagine so vividly
But when we are together, you're gone,
To sit in the space of desire means
To be entirely alone
And to live in desire always seems to mean
To be consumed in a relationship with yourself,
Written words are always
the perfect goodbye
It says, this is my body
Please learn to read it in my absence.
When lost lovers have forgotten
To give me their words
I have given myself this gift on their behalf
It shall arrive to me randomly
I will be reading and realise:
Oh this is where you left yourself
And I shall give myself over to discovering them
As the last act of intimacy.
*This 'you' is subject to fragmented temporalities.

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