Sunday, September 16, 2018

will you forsake your house carpenter?




wraps the baby in plastic

then forgets about it



ten years, twenty, and when

cobain finally pulls the trigger

the sound is no more than the

sound of a small bird singing



weep while you put the

pieces back together



breathe in clean light

                    and dust



breathe out



remind yourself that

wherever you are

is the desert



bathe in waves of sorrow



hum of bees or the

moans of priests



three devils in the room at the

end of the hall, and not a

sound from any of them



this is how all wars start



a crack in the ceiling



cancer caught too late



you make up with your father

after 15 years of bitter silence

and then 3 months later

he’s dead



your husband no longer

sleeps in the same

bed as you



your wings are ragged



all angels

consumed by fire


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