tracing the lines of poems
has taught me clairvoyance.
now i can flip the cards behind your hearts.
word tricks are math.
reading is the art.
love splits me open like a fairy nut:
from my chest flow forth
the honey and the gold
and my heart melts like a sword
like something that recalls
the taste of blood.
as her ladies paint
her blue blood on her lips
“queens die like this:
with the theatrics
of the crowning ceremony
and the proud negligence
of the morning toilette:
the gods-awful magnificence
of a wrist-flick:
draw me my milk bath,
bring me my venom pills.”
it's raining again.
medusa's let down her hair:
strands of raindrops
poison on armour.
my insides may curl up like sails in a storm
but my heart is the flag, unafraid to be torn.
to become immortal, you must devour
the gods. begin with the god of fear
and when the god of the nile
floods your heart's temple
lay your offerings underwater.
i think i might have a mole.
my teeth are dug out of their rows.
my tongue is pulled out at the root.
my nails are shriveled up thorns,
my wrists wilted bouquets of bones.
my ribs metal jaws which enclosed
something that bit off its foot.
my skull’s overturned,
seeds spilling out of the neck.
what is a corpse but a flower bed?