Monday, June 15, 2015


In the dictionary of dead names
they perished your whole alphabet
in the library of silence they ate your heartbreak
and benefited from it greatly
they learned and learned your beautiful errors
admired the tenor of your disobedience
got real complicated with your insides
daffodil grenades for skull eyes
poise of shoulders bare under torn
leaves for rain to slip through in watery shards
and smack my secret beaver in the torso,
where I vomit hunger
and in blood of confession
furnish my incomplete body

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