Tagged: sick

CHECK

I put my hands on my body to check that I’m here, that I have not been stolen by dreams, by smiling dogs or children laughing

i saw my guts strung out in the trees like a christmas garland, heart and liver and lungs like baubles, something finally broke me down

yet this body under my fingers feels smooth and solid, another in a swamp of sweating beings pressed together like worms in a can, live bait for nightmares

I tear open holes in the flesh to which I’m bound, let some air in on this thing inside me, though perhaps i should just let it drown

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BAD BONES

written march 2017
granada, spain

bad bad bones,
abandoned in the
sand and
choked white on
blistered dry
heat and yellowbrown
land below
our cracking spackled
feet thank
god agave
is given to grow
here sprawling
like the splatters
of spleens and
splooge all
spliffed up splied
out sick and sad
severed fingers on
the floor pointing
south and north and
west and
west and
east and
southeast and
east and
north
again