Page 75 - Iterations:Other/Is
P. 75
sing, my breath, a blossom of worms—
the bottom, it swells, the (ower
is gold,
the tower is built, these lungs
then spent, & #lled
with hands beneath the bones
of ribs, well spent, in time the stones become the song I meant to sing
before the closed door behind, which sits
and sat, two dance poppy blossom jump
cutting verbs between us {again} sanctuary; for some,
—
I am less than this tongue, fresh basil grows from within
and without for wither my child makes
sauce one cold September—
our DNA spiraling endless virus—
alcoholic, narcissist, witch, which I gift endless in chain anticipated, starless
may you dismantle us — endless,
