The uncolonized part
of my mind has spoken, it said
that
life begins
when you are no longer interested
in yourself. It said
the sun is full of violence.
I whispered the name of my lover
into the dirt.
The dirt
vomited spiders.

Break me against what

I cannot give my life
and all its pointless

camaraderie. I took the hand you
offered like a flower

laid upon my grave.

There are no lovers
only vagrant dreams.

We are drowned
stars

living
in the mean

time.
In the meaningless fog of

daylight.

Life

and all its humiliations
the husband

expects
a woman to bear

beds of writhing
eels

silver, emerald
rinsed in

blood.