boy found dead in the river’s veins

february and
the baby is hungry


they are all stoned in
the other room
the sunlight pale and
without heat


cold
but brilliant
like the blind eye of god
and i have begun measuring
my life in failed
relationships


have been dreaming of california
and of the holiness that
radiates from the
pacific coast highway
and what i know is the smell
of fear


the golden haze of gasoline
and the name of the boy
found dead in the river’s veins


and no one asks
to be christ here but
the nails are still driven home


there are men who
smile with the sharpened teeth
of animals and
there are the daughters
they rape and i am tired of
hearing that these words
i choose to give you
cannot be poetry


i am tired of the baby’s screams


it was never enough
just believing we would all
become beautiful in some
unforeseeable future