(taught me by a machine)
the concrete curses with nightmares that leave more grotesques than concrete can furnish
the brain XXX death’s XXX and staggers for months growing a new tongue
the soul learns its lonely impossibilities
only capable of a question:
how does safety
feel so certain now?
Because you demand: Scream. Let me know this is your body. Let me know it can take more than we think. Let’s handle this.
When I clutch you writhing,
pinned under terror and frenzy,
sprinting and begging
When we are watering death’s blazes across my brain,
Planting lilacs and calendulas and dahlias,
When you haul up the sun for me, three, four, five, twelve times,
When you tie up my hands around the hole-wound in my neck, and I pull it tight because I can,
We laugh as we shudder.
What else could we do, after learning
what a hit we can take