i'll tell you the truth that hasn't happened:

i begin in a rude place

praying awkwardly

my body is ugly.  and a consequence of silence

i watched myself being born

i came from crocodile mouths,

i swam thru the bronx of my mothers' belly

she married those cracks in bible passages

her jesus-witch-brew cried a liquid city between thighs and blurred bookcases

until a heartbeat broke centuries

a noisemaker spat

and bled thru his golden horn.

a poet held me down on a bed.

this is old news, all the stethoscopes have told it before.

i watch the singing ones and i want to move in their throats

and i want to sleep in them

and wake 

and not be so scared all the time.

i dont want to talk about the kissing ones, or the ones who are smaller than their mouths, who die in the middle of the street, and how small children are chastised for wanting to touch them. Who are the lullaby gods' worst...or the funksmell that follows them across bridges, and beneath breasts, and powders armpits with their crying.

If i could tell you i love you in a language where fear didn't exist

i know i would remember the earth as a piece of my chest.

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Do earthquakes practice being themselves?!

....if this flood kisses me, I'll wash my lungs...if my heart sheds like water I'll cross the street// satellite orbiting sleep backwards// in my chest 100 wolves scattering, the highways' throat for a drum....

fingerprints as a posture/for a postage stamp I'm listening/ easier than 3 bullets in his brain, the font of your music on my bones replanting a nervous system...sleep...sleep...the milkways' ghost graffiti-ing sleep

....i am also Saturn for blood and artemisinin

i regret not giving myself as a gift to the rain in awkward currents

sharpening my sounds like knives

swimming around inside

a 7 rainbow octave

a little lust pocket

i keep this light in my backpocket as a crows' foot.....

if your blood is also a funny shape, then yell

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