~disorientation
ask me again
why the wounds
hold me here
like clots
& bruises
of another
ruined sky
with its
sharp edges
& its palette
of blackbirds
its long reach
of darkness
ask me again
why I cling
to the thunder
rioting the night
why I cling on
the edge of tremble
as ghosts look
straight through
the page where
this poem breaks
another mirror
because I will
write you seven
years in a language
of stolen phrases
& forget-me-nots
as I tally fourteen
years of warning
signs in the way
knuckles & needles
have drawn a clef
of scars on
my bluing skin
in this space
between clouds
where I measure
the air & the
falling rain
as I plant my
suffering like
a promise in
a thicket that
waits to sprout
its roots in snow
to bristle the nest
in a branching pine
& crawl through
the wind stealing
my breath so
you can climb
the ladder of
my fractured ribs
wiggle like a worm
to a soft red apple
& fill the pretty
little holes in my
heart with wet matches
& hand-rolled
cigarettes
because you hate
everything you love
& my eyes taste
what we've broken
peppered with
salt to melt
the frost on
my bare feet
standing in
this puddle of ink
staining just beneath
my freckled flesh
with veins collapsed
from the sludge
with a throat
so full of hunger
lah 6.11.17 ○