Compelled by stormy blindness,
I carve an upside-down cross
into the meat of my heart
(right-side-up if I forget myself) -
hollowed by ten thousand abortions,
strangled by the hateful whispers of snakes,
labeled in bold,
fixed to die,
carry me home -
no more running,
no more walking,
nail me here to bleed,
hang me here to dry
(I've been told of how I'll die,
first to be born,
then to fall apart,
dehydrated, deflated;
demise: a dark place, a
warm place).
2.
I am quiet,
smaller than nothing,
quite easily hidden by
a hand over the heart
(for I am a bug there,
an arterial flea,
a mite choking on a clot,
a fly, a gnat,
alive only by slight chance),
and with a sleight of hand I am
gone again.
3.
each sleep is bigger than the next,
rolling over like hungry gray waves
on the sand of the earth
in the coldness of night
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