|
unless − pink mist + disintegration
those lucky to become all phantom: not limb
or twitch or severed nerve to grasp.
a sublime confetti −
you think only of the dead, i know
a man of ascended wrists + ankles took
to birds. broken. falderal. akimbo.
that labyrinthine spine:
flense of shrapnel, imprisoned
minotaur. grindstone. rake + rage.
what do you know of time dilation? to know
you have become two selves:
time twining itself into marrow −
that is pain. that is −
listen: doctors dig graves into you.
this cicatrix will never knit flesh.
curdled skin + smolder. a man who carries
his bladder on a spear. his wife
young + feather eyed. baby down she powders
him fresh in the pre-dawn + by nightlight.
there is a special love that will kill a man.
there is a photograph, hunter −
holy stigmata + lodestar. bloodied blood brothers,
i tell you: point blank.
there is no more remorse in a dead man's face
than there is in the living.
i want you to know that survival
is the slowest death there is
+ still, + still
+ still
|
KAT FINCH lives with an orange cat in Ann Arbor where she attends The University of Michigan. Her work is forthcoming in Sixth Finch & The New Megaphone, & can be found in Birdfeast, Ilk, & The Sugar House Review. Kat Finch is more than likely her real name. |