RAISING THE GHOST OF FLOWERS
Wednesday, 17 October 2012
this IS going to be about the book but first, just to test out the site, a peon
I wanna go home
and crawl
unseen and inordinately
broken.
I wanna go home
and sing
cancer venom uncovered
self.
I die a thousand
victims in
every toss and turn
in the sheets we meet
repeatedly.
I cannot give up
on frozen melting
or trying to tie
one wounded fragility
to the other.
Connection runs
in a family
of trees broken
in two by the whims
of nature.
I tried on many
different sizes,
piles of skin
shredded from within
a charcoal core.
I stood by
and waved the
passersby
ignored me.
Simple pieces
of clothing
stuck to blood
and bleeding wounds
of love or feeling
something like an
incandescent seething
of regular movements
smoking and adhering
to
a simple sacrificial
bit of television
found blaring in the
background,
not alone and wired
but filled with
euphemistic fire.
from
witnesses.
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