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I said, I will make you
an origami noose. The necklace
will be missing its center
piece. I begged you to burn
my money, slice through my phone
line, arrange my favorite dead
things around my neck
to emphasize this chilling
bone structure.
I am not a culpable
object. Evasive like the bones
on the windowsill, glued
together into an almost. A live
slip through mornings I wasn't there for.
Therefore, a plain of jars.
A certain sobriety unbogged,
unfolding in bus stations & on
the way to church. A clattering
grief sweeping shudders
to disarray. How my mouth makes
words into dirt soliders.
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