Imagining an Aftermath
Some time passes, you go back to your paper
kingdom, and close your eyes.
Maybe you’ve been lucky
in the dark, no one sees your fingers growing teeth.
We will not understand the coring
of your body—all that love! There it goes! The tonsils were not
worth it. The mountains were not worth it. The eyelashes,
the shoulders. You filled the earth ten
times over with a slanted eye. Pain meet the pain
of one string, of one straight line from hand to gun to brain.
There’s more. Just left behind from sleep. A please.
A desire. A hand cupping a bad heart. A hole in a paper skull
called into again: salt, or pale, or imploding.
My favorite artery
I understood was
dusk to the rest
of the body.
Set back, growing dim,
it pulsed: a gray hour
of oxygen—could it be
out the birds from
behind a muscle: we
averting. We are
backwards or in
a trance or in a
From the self:
your whole self
sending back its