The head like an oubliette. Forget. Forget. How to escape your medieval form? Shave the scalp, chisel and drill. Excise a square of skull. Pain awaits when you wake. Obscure with Fog and pills. Nervous and nervouser. We have loved too long. Believed in words and spheres. Scalpels make a paper cut-out of your former self, silhouette stitched to wind. Let them scour the edge, search the unguent inch while you radiate, glow from within. Let them ogle the permutation: a doorway where a man once lived.
Darkness Intersects Her FaceTo look at her was to see a fire, skin pulling away from skin, cancer blistering its meat. The surgeon had been thorough, neat. She wore her thigh on her cheek, her neck on her forehead, her eyelid cut from her inner arm. And so it seemed she was all crust and seam, more marionette than mother. More wire than whole. Behind this mortal Bone, a shadow is growing inside her. No, love is growing inside her, touching every part.
Lullaby (with Exit Sign)