fruit

Leather and wood in my house;
crunch a crying carrot
amidst the bones and souls
of the once-alive.
Watch my cat
eat a box-elder bug
with a broken leg
even though it crawled on my journal,
which was its way of asking
for help.
Don’t think about the
fingers who stitched together
your t-shirt,
sweltering in the healing sunlight,
forcing their glorious eyes to
quiet. Mercy.
Use death and
death and
death
to animate your ruthless
heart,
and levitate
your peaking breath.

end it

I am exhausted,

holding open my eyelids

feels like Atlas,

like triumph,

six wands,

my fingers clenched.

I am looking for my fire,

have you seen it

bathed in nighttime,

or perhaps,

crackling under your

ribs?

There is Death,

and she waits hopefully,

her sleek hair joining with rivers

of blood in my

bath tub.

shudders

I am crawling out of my
FUCKING skin!
Yellow, familiar voices sound like
orchards of fibrous engines grating
up my skull, and the sun
darting on my skin sets
off every prickled
nerve ending in
torturous icicle atrophy,
crippling my arms,
one at a time until I shed
myself.
Ethereally antsy,
but so close to this cliff,
and it beckons me,
colorfully, with floating
kites and jealous trees tied down.
I am in love with it!
Why, it is my lover,
it calls me to make
love to its sharp boulders,
love to its creaking river belly.
Darling cliff,
I would never deny you anything,
even the air that whooshes with my fall.

the child god, ronan

Your eyes prove

you were too good for this world,

supernatural blue,

what do you see with them?

(For eyes such as those could

scarcely stop seeing

regardless

of mere death.)

They are swirls of galaxies,

colliding into the minds of the gods,

who reel at your wonders,

and lay flaccid before your joys.

You are what is holy about life,

you are hugs from strangers,

and groceries left on porches,

and mended blankets,

and all that was left

of our hearts.

The world is blank

without your presence,

we are fatally wounded,

we will not survive,

and we should not

survive.

Her love

makes me love you,

and that is why you lived,

to be

loved,

and that is how you

live

on,

in our desperation

for your

eyes.