On Her Greek Island

with the purple moon
around her shining thighs
and young men
with unspoiled teeth
bringing fruit and fish

on her Greek Island
children playing
as she talks to plastic
the earpiece gibbering
my voice failing to deal with
this electronic place
where blood doesn’t pump
lungs dont breathe
bodies dont bleed

on her Greek Island
hanging up the phone
making for the night alone
me grabbing at the wire,
chewing, trying to suck her
out of it again
breathing with difficulty again.

There is no purple moon here.
There’s a muddy drizzle
at the dull window.


















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