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


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




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this is so deep, it's really amazing

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