Maggots boil from under her skin.
  I will never see her again.
I have heart aches that
  stem from mistakes.
I count them as they
  leak from her skin.

Her eyes are raisins;
  I will never find what
they last captured.
  Cheekbones higher than
my song. My finger brushed
  along all that was black
and seeped into her back,
  tripping on her vertebrae
like a boy frolicking home.

  The cacti stand still--
while I feel quite ill--
  standing in an ocean
of honey.

  The people stand still--
America is ill--
  standing in an ocean
of money.

  You stand still,
too afraid to ****
  an ocean of hate
you tolerate.