Skull-Sized Kingdoms

Well, Jane -- never knew she had a body like a forest in the rain

Poetry trembles alone, only picked up to be taken apart.

She knows that she is full of something New and foul and deep and free.

Fuck the poem. There's a bed here and you want me in it.

I haven't written in ages 'cause I'd rather stare at you than stare at pages.

Your fingerprints stayed on my arms after you'd gone, like tea stains on a coffee table

She will march Till she feels the tarmac respond.

Watch him,  staring at what doesn't bore him.  Sun of himself. All things are his moons.

The seed will grow and blossom once the flower's ground to dust.

Promising each other not to take the vital parts, While even as they mutter it, they're giving up their hearts.

And the moon hangs open and orange Like a wound in the mist.

And when she woke from nightmares, breathless, She would piece herself together Like some relic found in ash and clay, A precious, ancient necklace.

She is glass Amongst sand.