Crying in public as performance art
or baptism, applying lipgloss for
ten minutes straight, calm before the start
like feathered storm clouds, lilac-heavy, or

pupil dilation as angel wings spread.
Blood pours from organs into hands, shaking
like cellphones, fresh texts, legs swelling with red,
blinking away glass shards, mirrors breaking.

Bees seep in through trembling eyes, and lips
let loose a white noise tangible as snow.
The moon crumbles in my hands as salt slips
in through pores, leaves my dusty cheeks aglow.

Honey-brained and drained, my eyes are flowers:
petals bruised, I see nothing, lose hours.