Dheny Patungka
A glass cephalic muse
Yields to disclosure
She knows as I know not
She speaks as I cannot
Of a life so curiously quarried
I am wealthy she tells me
Red as a pagan heart
Volumes of unwritten poems
Fill my carts, at least in theory,
Though having never seen them
I cannot attest a life-giving labor
Too oft stillborn I am not convinced
That I possess a reasonable womb
Death I fear you, as my only companion
That I should speak forever as I was
mindlovemisery 