“Conversation”

we talked about insubstantial everythings
on nights like this, in lives like these,
till all the lights were burned away.

“Fingertip Tapped”

I tapped you with a fingertip –
ink burned
up through my veins,
following village maps
historical genealogies
and scar tissue,
settling at my shoulders
bursting with black blooms,
petals fell down my spine
composting nerves and muscles
building feathered stems,
slowly, brightly, blackly
bursting inky quills
stolen from aged ravens,
used to dress the faces
of the pretty ugly,
where scars burst into flowers
demanding flesh and meat
instead of sun and soil.

“Water”

How it shimmers
and shines beneath the light
of every sun that ever lived
and every world that ever died
thinking about all the good it could do
before it burned and boiled away.

there’s some collecting here
in a dent of dead dirt
it looked so bright once
but now it’s brown and bleak
and broken and full of silt
setting out to suffocate.