A letter to Lady Lazarus

rebirth comes to me

like a fire being stoked

I am being brought alive,

always

I cannot picture you

with your lonely birdcage words

dying, like it is an art

I am dying,

always

and like you

out of the ash, I rise

But I cannot imagine

how it screams to you;

a miracle,

when I am so

exceptionally tired

of returning out of the fire

unendingly

Living is caked to me like dried mud

on a summer day

I crave death

like a stream on my muddied flesh

you itch for your nine lives

but don't forget

every death will carry you away again

like a river to the ocean

smiling woman,

don't you ever tire

of devouring yourself whole?

signed,

a dying phoenix