bad bliss, bodéwadmimwen, bowels of the earth, dreams of the dead, erotic poetry, ggiskonyé ne?, moonstruck, sonnet
Don’t be jealous of the dead. Their yearning
is like yours. “Ggiskonyé ne?” That pain
filling all her voice asks. “Are you getting
undressed?” I take her absinthe and regain
all those old tensions, those itches. To kiss
a ghost is to feel her raw tingle glow
in your flesh, echo in the sky, bad bliss
from the bowels of the earth. She has no
bowels but — she’s horny as a hellcat
with two cunts. I have been moonstruck before.
When at last I undressed before you that
was mad but you had said more, always more.
The dead are like us: loving cock and cunt
and all that’s odd, loving what is different.
In the Bodéwadmi (Potawatomi) language, “ggiskonyé ne?” translates as, “are you getting undressed?”