Tag Archives: wounds
I like them damaged, closer to real, the marrow in the blue void that seals hymns airtight, narrow interior dancing the hips and thighs to the gospel according to arson, the smolder and bake of flame-twisted wicks, I like where … Continue reading
Kiss my shame, she said, the moistened outlet to my sealed-in history, run your tongue, but gentle now, gentle, over my heart-shaped booboo, make it sing, as if the moon, a secret maestro, was drawing the most beautiful notes from … Continue reading
Show us where it is you’re dying, the silent ebb and roaring tides of dark, expose to us, with a scalpel’s exactitude, the finite lineage of your deepest wounds and locks, and we promise that the light’s searing of naked … Continue reading
We, as time-worn saboteurs, engage the history of scabs and locks, resetting old wounds to the hands of a busted clock.