August 24, 2009


I found myself ‘neath scenes of wreckage
where I’d left me, and forgotten,
snow blind, hole-bound,
seasick, hell-bent,
before I’d washed up here.
I was painting on a sticky
ipseity, collecting and amassing
bone-bruises, flesh-gashes
like anecdotes and party favors.
They clung to my breast
all tarred down, scarlet ornaments.
Atop that—all I had left to swallow
on a full belly, mouth open.
Picturesque catastrophes
on heavy-threaded tapestries
and crumbled walls and gates
and rubble. Heaped
upon my tender self.
I found me dusty, wasted, withered,
four dull limbs cradled inward, tucked.
Unfolding myself,
unbending, deep wading,


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