7/30 [end]

Porcelain Flowers

i.

bite the cheeksides into rot &

turn hands as they go limp, legs festering in

pillows and damp jeans & sweat driven from the brain-work raining

from hair-forest,

weak & molting on ground; creaking of knee in dusk

walking to feel like alone, like imagine what it was

to breathe in another body

understand thoughts of hives buzzing around me,

tensions in the air space waiting above my head,

caterpillar like the handles of gates in ice-winter

chrysalis of skin and blood,

growing around bone

holding me close

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