"For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return."
GENESIS 3:19

because who knew
that the bones of gods were made of glass?
that they'd shatter upon impact with marble floors
that if you smelted them they'd become indistinguishable
with silica bits from sandy coasts
that you would have to
sweep up the shards
before a child could slice his fingers upon their many edges
and bleed?
figured it was worth a try, and
it was.
your body was so light, for once
and before you knew it you were
flying up,
out of this place that the angels left
long ago.

he whispers words to me that i don't
understand anymore
and i can't tell but
even to someone like me,
they don't sound like words
they don't even
sound.
they feel
like he's testing out the rush,
the scrape
of carbon dioxide across skin
stale and a little bitter.
stinging.
i can't hear him, anymore, and
he doesn't want me to.

wake me up, she says
i don't want to ever sleep again
don't want to be that girl
tiny jagged holes from
a thousand needle ******
a forest so deep,
lost where the
light doesn't reach, even in summertime,
and the wolves can't get you.

and no amount of breadcrumbs
or kisses
could possibly make me
want to leave.

and after you were done with me i was
gutted:
had lost myself
in you
to you.
became another one of them
(and there were so many)
fish you'd caught and thrown away,
an empty chest
sinking
to the bottom
of the ocean.

the truth is,
i'd never thought about my thoughts
until you
asked me what i was thinking
and i had no answer.

really
what could i have told you?
all i know is that there are
a thousand leaky faucets in me and
a thousand overflowing sinks
and that my head pounds to the beat of
stampedes in south africa
of traffic jams and the
screeching tearing twisting
of fenders
(and other such parts)
of the buzz of construction sites and wasps,
of waves beating against rock,
incessant.
(i'm really just
missing all the crucial components
and my skull leaks thoughts in
the ugliest symphony known to man.)

remember that time
when i disintegrated into a
pile of dust
and was never seen again?

yeah,
neither do i.

You are nothing short of iridescent.

Like the pearls the divers pluck
From the depths of the bay and
Crack open to reveal;
When set into gold and silver, they
Glisten.
As do you.

But the fishermen trawl the very same bay
With their boats and their nets,
And you are iridescent as
The milky smooth insides
Of the clams they catch—
Iridescent as the shells that they,
Hungering,
**** the meat from and
Throw back into the sea.