Cracked like the skyline
countless men mine me for coal;
I suck the midday Moon
like a good symbiot,
like a pretty harlot of war,
I search myself at the garage sale,
I hollow me out,
unlatch the hands like instruments,
lick and spit,
soft, but I am dust –
disassembled to a murder of crows.
This blood builds altars between teeth,
this ocean is godless,
77 silver coins shoved in the socket,
the worthlessness of thoraxes
is speaking tongues –
translated it means I who no longer know dawn.
I, eyeing this river, a carnival, alone.
I, no longer knowing the sparrows
for their marrow of strawberries,
I, stuffing the pillow with hares,
my ventricle for Doctor Death,
My mouth for the athame,
for you, lover, among decapitated carnations,
for you lover, your silences like noose
around the neck of promiscuous Miss mercy.
View original post 316 more words