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I will talk to you at night like a broken guitar string trinket from the theater who taught [people] to live with strange chasms. I recall your soft mercury lips vomiting, black wine. It's terrible to possess brittle things like me . How are we to know who taught people to draw and men to measure the stars between my eyelashes and butterflies between my thighs. Of throats, a crying baby between my breasts / And who taught me to live like this? . / With this yawning, singing, oblivion. 




you feel like several abortions , a bone breaking in my ear, like sex in a ruby velvet box of bees drunk on warm honey.


























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