How she sat there
with movement in her head.
A churning of learning
the ways to get ******
and slaughtered by
other people's
sons and daughters.
And how I sutured a gust
of her brain exhaust
into my chest, into my lungs--
I breathed her like I was
******* the end of a
tailpipe.
Her hands ran like busted tires
as she massaged my temples,
revving her voice,
my ears on her
suicide door lips.
There is no green light
in her red light country.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
How she sat there
with movement in her head.
A churning of learning
the ways to get ******
and slaughtered by
other people's
sons and daughters.
And how I sutured a gust
of her brain exhaust
into my chest, into my lungs--
I breathed her like I was
******* the end of a
tailpipe.
Her hands ran like busted tires
as she massaged my temples,
revving her voice,
my ears on her
suicide door lips.
There is no green light
in her red light country.
Request permission to use this poem