I.
do you suppose of the three
rosaline got the best deal?

not ending in tragedy, but in obscurity

because i've realized how poisonous
girls are
they sit and settle like concoctions
waiting to be stirred up

II.
i will absorb her under my skin
until she turns my face red
and finger nails blue
until she chokes the air
from me and all I can taste
is her

i will shed my skins through sunrise
and pledge my beating bleeding heart
to juliet at sunset

III.
i can multi-task
i can die
i can live
i can love

i can

[do it all]

There is an old Chinese saying
that goes like 'those who lie too much tend to
lose teeth'

I have one ripped from the top
and two snatched from the bottom,
from my un-truths--half truths
those new moon truths, with a crescent
sliver of a lie--but lie none the less

My mouth blossoms red and purple,
veins and capillaries split-lit
muscle malformed, bacteria nurtured
in the hammock of my gum,
all from those words I said to him.

Things like 'I love you',
so sweet and artificial that no
amount of brushing, flossing,
or gargling could prevent the
plaque.

O woe,
I have the mouth of a *****, for appearance--
all in the name of appearance.

the blood of the women of my blood
stir under deep layers of earth
like cackling magma
churning through and by
like the arteries
of my flesh
moving
and burning
and exploding
like enraged volcanoes.

the words of the women of my blood
cool and harden--are dark and shining
like basalt or obsidian
we are the casual sort
something that shouldn't be confused
with softness
our tongues are tougher than pumice
and our mouths only shape
letters that chafe.

I am of fire like
my mothers before
me
pulsing
radiating.

I lit my first match
when I was eighteen
it was a slip of the
wrist, finger kiss with
fire
clumsy and stupid on
my part
because I had always been afraid
of fire.

Afraid of burns and turns
thorough enough you could
see the true colors
of me
singed
and charred,
scarred.

But now I eat peppers
that make my mouth raw
and empty, that makes everything
I eat after combustive.

But now I sleep in fire places
twisting and turning
at night in a bed of
ashes, a-light

And once I even sought to swim,
underground in magma
searching for that
sensation
of every nerve screaming
alive,
all at once.

Because I've since discovered
it's better for your body
to cry 'hot, hot!'
then for it to whisper
*'cold, cold...'

it's like a curl of thunder
ripping inked skies

hunger moves very quickly
like that

the growls of soft tissue
constricting
marks thunder, rumbling and deep

hunger
splits you
like that.