Tuesday, March 16, 2010


On my knees,
inside out—the dull blade
of the mind flicks back
to its shell and the razory sword
rears a long arm, sharp teeth unzipping
time from its crown to its heels and peeling
back the thin layer of pallid flesh.

(Remind me not to pray
when my stomach is weak,
when those white bones cracked and parasitic meat
rattle me on the inside, dethroning my mountains
flicked out to the hard-heaving sea.)