the body floats
hollow and hallowed
in the brassy sun.
a sidewalk drifter, a
velveteen casket emptied
and wrung. where is death?
the body would not know.
the insides are plucked of light and they
move like strings. i can play my bones like
a lumbering chord, i sing the
blood that moves me. and looking as a
bungled blemish, i lower the bow and
pull to the ache. o' stumbled breath, o'
silence i singe, lay no flowers on my grave.
witness only the shaking of trees and the
kindness of leaves. and after the mountain's mirage,
i, injured of thomas' remorse, resurrect within a shipwreck,
calling on the prophet and the pain.
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