PURPLES RAGES.

A BATTERED WOMAN AND HER ABUSIVE MAN.

There are always
The purple rages.
You are hearing
The buzz of the

Flying fist. Eyes
See mist. The echo
Of the words is
Disturbed like

Shaken earth.
He will come
For you where
Ever you are.

Sometimes there
Are flowers after,
Apologises also
Like applause at

The circus when
The trapeze falls.
There is salt in
The wounds; there

Is the love slipping
Through fingers
Like fine sand.
He must love

The purple eyes,
The bruises he
Leaves, the lips
He splits long

After kissing.
Something is
Dying, something
Aching to be found.

Something called
Love is missing.