Paternal mountains holding
knees as I a brook
laugh and gurgle
without stopping.

Crown sliding
off tousled hair
I cry at broken
dolls that make me sad

and get presents
smelling faintly of
sticky, warm Azaleas.
I groan.

I moan as I tear small ivory chunks with sickening thuds,
l grasp the pulsating pulp.
With lower lashes, I offer

to the ravenous fire that consumes in its unquenchable desire that destroys and laughs, that baits me to bark.

Ah! Look at the night
dressed up like a *****.
No is three letters, yes is two.

Every man a tattoo artist branding his initials for free.
Tell me, does purple look striking against melanin attire?

I get paper cuts
from words slicing off penetrating tongues
and I scream, muffled inside a dream.

Groping at flecks of sandy sunshine, waiting to be
Exhumed.