if you deconstruct my sutures,
you'll be fine.  cover your eyes

with your windswept fingers.  ask someone
to sprinkle rainearth on them, illicit pangs of

laughter and longing.  the time is
10:51.  wait.  slow down, fall in love with

a worker on the wayside, a plain girl behind
mahogany, fluttering books, a

kinetic fray of desertfire.  make
yourself a

sea, make
yourself a well while my

name drips from the IV like a bad omen.
somehow, we are still connected.  i am

siphoning the hope out of your veins, out of
the rivers in your

freckled arms.  i am
leaking birth.  my eyes are rolled back into my

head.  build an altar and
pray for me until

your lips turn to stone.  raid my house like a jackal.
you cannot save me

but your hope can.  you cannot hold me, but the
beam behind your longing and laughter will

light the dischordant night.