The moon is bitten / like the apple
under the bleats of the corvid / the enceinte tree
my pentrailium / shuts the black heart of lilies
do not find me, I want to be alone before I leave.
the moon / satsuma hills and mouthfuls of the noose
lay bare and wrest like a baby’s fingers / digits pass
between my hands, a discoid / a discomfort
I know too well. I see your body of glass,
And I’m stranded / like the white worms
in the soil, all tossing in the dirt
with restless leg syndrome; I only
retain a monolith of grief; desert
me now. I tell the moon / to turn away;
the bud of her breast / I’m alone,
I drank the jicama roots of grief
as I turn to leave your stone.
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Come, join us. I am guest-tending the bar over at dVerse for poetics today. The theme is dark, dark, dark in the form of a ballad.