i'm finding this future

*****
  scar

how her and here
my brother in a clay plot

i peek
open and cut gut

***** and see


to throw over shoulder
i stare
eight years


disassemble


new **** in ice-box
say it's
a parcel i cannot sign

I'm being stung by bees in the snow.

my pants fill with air

my pocket takes warmth from fingertip

four numb


very touching and very moving
sentiment from twenty years of last century



taking warm rocks from the unsettling effigy

ingesting them


it is too painful she tells me


a ram's horn

being stung by bees in the winter

chewing on dolphin meat in the summer


the beach is glass
the salt boils

my soles bubble
yellow cloud pushes me up

I glide on the hooves
in my new pelt