Breaks like a wrist
I feel it swelling
Infected blind kiss
You say I lost my nerve
That the poems drank it out
You say I should know better
I believe you're right.
Fragility, the bend of twig
I am on a borderline
Of effacement.
I should know to plant myself
To ripen and age with the animals
Stygian, a stone burnished
In a river I speak.
I spill
I take in arms
Blistered and callous anamnesis
I refuse to wash
I emerge from the earth.
Command of the mud
His little rocks
Stuck in my thighs
That pricking morality
That undeserved religion
Rising, rising,
Thick acrimonious root
I am
Still covered in slugs.
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