and spit out my cousin silver,
perilously bright I am gobbled by
the dragon of every culture
a tea room in the interlinked
stomachs of the dead.
Wombs construct themselves
in chains of light coming out of me,
the lace geometry of my inverted forehead
is patterned on the involvement of birds
with the cosmosphere before my arms are weary
and she comes with a scythe of chrome.
Narratives of ice perched on crumbling salt
the floors she scratches with a sideways phase shift
folds and grounds all surrounding falls
shores breaking into heaven's halls
sights forbidden from the earth that calls.
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