would you rather be 4.53 billion years lonely

-

The yard grows mulberries,
and I plot a way to slit your skin
for every ripened fruit
the flies fuss over.
I pluck berries out of my mouth
to sow in
your gushing lacerations-
ash over marooned rot,
so when your decayed teeth
fall in clumps,
I can make myself thirty one hairclips
and a silver ring.

-

We can only hope it ends here,
pray phoenixes are not real.

-

It is hard to not love

the thing that ruins you

when the debris homes survivors

-

This last stand
will be forgotten
in unconquerable battlements,
and she will unlearn
another man.

-

tender men,
helpless in their liquor,
ball fists
to throw at
at least three wrong targets
for all the wrong reasons.

-

tell her that
your fingers know a little too much
about letting go
but your hands are forgetful

-

she never really knew
when to
stop pouring.

the mother
does not stop crying.

breathe.
it's okay.
i can always wash it off.

-

. This is how .
. broken things .
. f .
. a .
. l .
. l .

-