moonwhite skin explodes into
blueblack bruises on your thighs
(chainsent)
like the words of your mother as she
consoled crying you in your crib:

she will always
know

the daughters
were not are not will never be
careful
virgincolored and apathetic
albatrosses scream overhead as you
take her paperpale hand (too thin);
and when
your fingers lace
your bluebird heart flies to your knees
and your butterfly soul flutters to your
stomach:

you will always
know.
the hopekill of your
mirrorcracked reflection
you in fragments
of
you mirror youmirroryou
knucklebleed flows onto the parqueted
wooden floor
where the silver glass
glints at you like
her skin in the moonlight.

and so tomorrow
if you are
still a
live
if tomorrow
when the sun sets west
if tomorrow when you open the gates
there are no wives
for the husbands waiting in line
if tomorrow you send her
a telegram:
(i will still be in brooklyn this week stop
and i love you
stop)

she will never
know

and the thunder
will bellow overhead as the albatrosses land
on the sweet, drunkwet pavement

chainfall.