O dear hearts
How many are getting scribbled on
Scrambled, torn and blown away
Flaunted, soured, stoned
For lack of mercy, perhaps
I was born this way too, kneeling
Strobe lifted on a soaring dream
Not exactly my own though
A ribbon, always standing
Straight backed, motionless at attention
Folded and holding, like troubled
Fidgeting hands
Fingers weaved within fingers
Webbed ready butterflies, amber
Sticky and slipping, from root to pulse
Forced through invisible tubes in the arm
Growing swollen, polyps
Poisoning purplish domes
Getting hard as rocks
Something else then,
Mourned from the dark in a surrounded
Wakeful sleep, becoming thirsty, obscene
Even so its kept and held there, a moth
Under the bulb or steaming
From baked clay
Pinned through the black hole
In small birds eye, darling even so
Its little to do with wanting
Tasteless pain, blisters risen so heavenly
In this sin, your features shaded, sick
Under uneven lighting
Like what walks away on death heels
Even with the memory of the heart
I felt once, hatch like an egg in my gut
And even so the children
Are going to get served anyway
Glued with thread to the platter
And down came the ax, through girdle and lace
Bastards, that kept digging
Digging in for seed, for the prize
Drunk static across a screen
Forks twirling buttered flesh
New loves sprouting everywhere
Like noodles and yellow peppers
