#bylrised

You are the white apron of the baker, And the marsh birds suddenly in flight… —Billy Collins

You are the white apron of the baker And the marsh birds suddenly in flight  Fat lipped babe, you lie and you chafe You overstay, you permeate 

You fancy yourself a preacher Address me, then  Spew your gospel, Your magnum opus I hear it everywhere. 

If this is your truth Your narrator is a liar Your crib I still remember The claw and the burr We only hurt each other

unravel your sweater into a skein, i  gag on the yarn so warmth can stay in the missing of you.

a squatter in the house of delight: folded like a secret in my keeping of you.

to have is to hold, my wanting becomes calloused  the gods of abandon have grown bold in their doting on you.

i am sold on a rebirth, some biblical rising but mold has long crept over the image of you.

I turn my neck, it breaks the yolk Dollop of cream, cherry on top A great lysed cell, I overflow

Pipe icing on the bloat of my belly  Feed me the excess, sea-froth mouth Watch, I am at my most lovely

Black hair, sallow cheeks   Gorgeous half-light of livor mortis I don’t close my eyes when I sleep 

Archangels drop from the stratosphere Frozen wings for dinner Heaven is cold, Mother says

Welcome to the great barnyard— There is no ascension. What good is godhead if you stutter around it?

Fold me back into your womb Then scrape me away once more   Mourning herd, origami cow