Am I a black bird piercing the sky
or the space between your sigh
and my lie?
Am I an amber drink
or just a poem that makes you think
or the blood thats in the sink?

I scratch and hatch
some kind of plan
to sift through all this sand
surrounding me like a grave
but I walk nowhere
on these limp legs
on these wooden pegs
splintering underneath me

I unhitch and restitch
all the wounds
all the suitcases
all the trailers and all the trash
I throw out and blow out
all the people
all the places
all the face and the traces
of whatever this "me" is