2/12/26
The stars cannot reach me if I hide. I fold the sky shut like a bad letter and put it in my mouth.
The blood on me is wrong.
What are you.
You stand in the corner of the air, white and unbearable, a thought that has learned to breathe.
Animals are licking their traps until the metal loves.
I cannot stop. My hands have gone ahead without me. They are building a smaller grave inside my throat.
The deer come again. Soft surgeons. Their antlers bloom through the walls. A forest with nowhere to lie down. They lower their liquid faces to mine. We recognize the same mistake. I go to them already opened.
Where are you.
The night fastens its black buttons. The dark learns my voice and keeps it.