WIP
Posted: April 6th, 2015, 10:52 pm
I hope it’s worth it, this dying inside.
Beer salt tobacco and then a moment
of hunger—flour and fat's dour tickle.
My ovaries are crippled, my eggs
no good. I was life, the ball and
feather falling multi-crumbled
in the language of entropy, babies
so terrible they’d suck murder
from this cold, farmers milking
moon-cows, soldiers reporting
to duty, autumn trees black-nerved
against blue sky, little birds coin-spilled
across this table. I never complained.
I swept them off: clap fears, placentas
eaten raw, Gods’ and fathers’ rabid tongues
dolling ecstasy—all probable cause for that
faraway dog, my dog, one of those strange-
mouthed beasts you only read about, study
and gristle over as I, embracing the act
of bleeding worse than history, rewire my
life with father as hero. I am tired. Tired
` of this ravening house. It's been so long
since I’ve studied life with fire.
I hope it’s worth it, this dying inside—
beer salt tobacco and then a moment
of hunger—flour and fat's dour tickle.
My ovaries are crippled, my eggs
no good. I was life, the ball and
feather falling multi-crumbled
in the language of entropy, babies
so terrible they’d suck murder
from this cold, farmers milking
moon-cows, soldiers reporting
to duty, little birds coin-spilled
across the table. I never complained.
I swept them off: clap fears, placentas
eaten raw, Gods’ and fathers’ rabid tongues
in ecstasy—all probable cause enough. I am tired.
Tired of this ravening house. It has been so long
since I studied life with fire.
Beer salt tobacco and then a moment
of hunger—flour and fat's dour tickle.
My ovaries are crippled, my eggs
no good. I was life, the ball and
feather falling multi-crumbled
in the language of entropy, babies
so terrible they’d suck murder
from this cold, farmers milking
moon-cows, soldiers reporting
to duty, autumn trees black-nerved
against blue sky, little birds coin-spilled
across this table. I never complained.
I swept them off: clap fears, placentas
eaten raw, Gods’ and fathers’ rabid tongues
dolling ecstasy—all probable cause for that
faraway dog, my dog, one of those strange-
mouthed beasts you only read about, study
and gristle over as I, embracing the act
of bleeding worse than history, rewire my
life with father as hero. I am tired. Tired
` of this ravening house. It's been so long
since I’ve studied life with fire.
I hope it’s worth it, this dying inside—
beer salt tobacco and then a moment
of hunger—flour and fat's dour tickle.
My ovaries are crippled, my eggs
no good. I was life, the ball and
feather falling multi-crumbled
in the language of entropy, babies
so terrible they’d suck murder
from this cold, farmers milking
moon-cows, soldiers reporting
to duty, little birds coin-spilled
across the table. I never complained.
I swept them off: clap fears, placentas
eaten raw, Gods’ and fathers’ rabid tongues
in ecstasy—all probable cause enough. I am tired.
Tired of this ravening house. It has been so long
since I studied life with fire.