Love letters to the
house on the moon
always Return to Sender,
so we dress Monroe as an astronaut
and tell her ‘go find our sky diamond’
My mind flowers on the stalk
she holds in marble hands
but broken glass of framed
photographs can kill a man;
like fragments of Dead Sea Scrolls
twist within the wrist
Once upon a woman’s body
after pencil skirt had risen beyond womb –
cutlery of clit, stationery and words –
wrote abstractions in lipstick ink
And I knew what would
sleep beside me in the tomb








Powerfully penned, Ghosteen. Amazing write my friend. Nicely done. Appreciate you.
Damian