Some Things Borrowed

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