lonelier sound than i, shaped like a long song;
have you ever seen me sweating, wearing fire?
the owls scream, searching for love.
each night, the noise awakens death,
in the same manner sex wounds.
there are feathers left on sacred ground; for the other.
gentle grief to be within and...
the prayers of everything were
too heavy, so i drowned them to the water;
they glistened like saints. .keening soft
covenants shining; i cried on too tightly, so maybe
the quiet now is punishment.
did i ever assure you, or myself,
that i was real?
let me number the deaths...
you will take me to the river
and i will drown....Lord, a summer massacre
whispers..... gushing gutted ghost, and i believe
i will float
up from the dead, the last remaining
sweet blood screams
just a gift for the entombed.
she imagines her hand is a spider.
and there are five tongues unspoken.
how do you know it is just a dream?
she is wearing hand.me.downs.
. . .because you wouldn't
and in a hundred years,
will you? still be burning?
the small breath between deaths
down to only red stars.
my sun.un.dressed at your eyes
trying to sing me to sleep and i keep
crying about being some woman
when i want to yank creation up to my chin
and be the girl who is a whole world.
celestine, over and over as if i,
like nebulae, can die
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