draw red lonely window
when small, let the lights go--
corpse package-wrapped
reflections at the meat counter, choosing
offal, this body
I have never died on a bridge
but I have held my breath
when the lake shovels its eyes out
I slip into myself
Return fingers to Amaranta’s
shroud-making:
one cold and lonely summer in papier-mâché
(ceramic with no lights and sticky hands)
trying to peel off my skin
from the tissue--
twists lattice knots, these chemicals
Now, a Greek woman
weaves night with spiders,
a dead girl with pearl eyes and hands
blossoming tulips
(my tiny explosions in the cavity unspooling)
do I grow
how do I grow
Like the memory of your other body
Like the movie
Like the foetus breaching town
Like comfort scorching skin
Like the death-kiss of twilight
Like a lake roiling
Like radiation or sonar
Like a nickel, like parachutes or a library card
Like crickets from nowhere
or glance of skunk by ruined theater
Like escalators abdicate to stairs
Like fleas dizzy with emotion
Like we only eat for information
Like I caved before you
Like I wanted to
Like diatoms sick with hair
Like a cache of spit
Like gagging
Like a leg of meat
Like 4,328 fingernails in a ziplock bag
Like too much gas, not enough long distance
Like a salt flat or oil stain
Like a giant shit of artifice:
Me, blind gecko. Me, white skinless fish.
Like bot flies kissing wet of eyeballs
Like the diorama, precisely morbid, like the felted wretch
of blood on the floor
Like the chamber of a guitar or a coffin
when small, let the lights go--
corpse package-wrapped
reflections at the meat counter, choosing
offal, this body
I have never died on a bridge
but I have held my breath
when the lake shovels its eyes out
I slip into myself
Return fingers to Amaranta’s
shroud-making:
one cold and lonely summer in papier-mâché
(ceramic with no lights and sticky hands)
trying to peel off my skin
from the tissue--
twists lattice knots, these chemicals
Now, a Greek woman
weaves night with spiders,
a dead girl with pearl eyes and hands
blossoming tulips
(my tiny explosions in the cavity unspooling)
do I grow
how do I grow
Like the memory of your other body
Like the movie
Like the foetus breaching town
Like comfort scorching skin
Like the death-kiss of twilight
Like a lake roiling
Like radiation or sonar
Like a nickel, like parachutes or a library card
Like crickets from nowhere
or glance of skunk by ruined theater
Like escalators abdicate to stairs
Like fleas dizzy with emotion
Like we only eat for information
Like I caved before you
Like I wanted to
Like diatoms sick with hair
Like a cache of spit
Like gagging
Like a leg of meat
Like 4,328 fingernails in a ziplock bag
Like too much gas, not enough long distance
Like a salt flat or oil stain
Like a giant shit of artifice:
Me, blind gecko. Me, white skinless fish.
Like bot flies kissing wet of eyeballs
Like the diorama, precisely morbid, like the felted wretch
of blood on the floor
Like the chamber of a guitar or a coffin