Sunday, November 20, 2016

FAULT LINES


Don't bring to me water when I am parched/ nor milk to my lips

to make these lips more desirable/ what stirs the vocabulary


dust leaves behind?/ or venous geography of our air sacs/ or

the topography of my primal skins/ give to  me a trembling flame/


or death as personification of a vigilante/ O' bird/ you've gone

and done it now/ these lips pull back/ laugh bird-struck