Skin-sent light
burning elements of my cloak
she ladles at the trough
watching pigs' noses,
snorting talk
long shiny wood devoted to her altar
fake and pressed flowers
the living bulb
resides on my kitchen table
in or out of water
the rooms all sing to her absence
she is so many, she has so many sisters
brows heavy with meaningful scribbles
the baby goddess hand
on a landscape of flattened wheat
torsos buried in milk mud
spouting brass fountain breasts
in the chemical aisle
rice fed on salt and moon panel
clotting transparent skulls
whip handle stuck to the river
and a costume dragging
a lurch of lips,
a birth control chamber
of antique weaponry
glinting canine alphabets
and sinking veins in teeth
a valkyrie scrubbing
zeroes of starchy wires
from a smoked-in porch
dangling glass keys
from her tits of mercy.