I am still there. In. That hypothalamus. Lightning
stalking the bannister. Rope: antiseptic. Glacier:
canvas where your petals lie drying. Like lips
I understand, “Don’t go,” is a cruel thing. To ask
with matches. Behind one ear how a hand fists
around a braid, trowel in the other. In moments
of crisis I wash my mouth. Twice daily that prayer
be laced with spearmint. On macadam a girl-flock
jabbing their beaks. Basketballs bouncing off chain
permanently accentuate. I. One crumb of bread
communion-thin. Like all waves we toss over
the wall God being. Ever is behind and the walls.
Chalk in memory I prefer it. That way a pastel
Eden orbiting your cranium instead of faulty
eyes which can’t. Tell monster from buckets clanging
with rain: there. I am in that hangar the night
grass streaked with vomit on pounding red. Of
your heart though scorpion cloud rends foliage
what I remember. Is death of illumination in its
cradle. Moths falling like a veil over you me inside
the cool. Rooflessness that stands on twisted.
Engine of your waist I creak. With penumbra
from the beginning shard aspiring to dynamite.
Dawn. The steeple famine thrust after famine.