Sunday, October 25, 2009

Untitled #12

You carve out birds from my waist,
spill, not blood but, embryonic fluids
into the descending sky, and earth
receives damaged plumage in reprisal.

No father will greet us at the door
in such damaged condition, the porch-
light will switch off as water seeps
into those red canvas sneakers.

You were never hungry enough,
undertones were colored indigo hues,
seconds spin around your face,
cravings emanate in song phrases.

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