pen marks stitch on the skin.
the fumes of my land where i stepped to
validity, disappears. goosebumps in high reach
is all that covers.
though my complexion fits as you’d have it be,
my language, on the tip of
the tongue - you have trained to speak
a borrowed one.
and now - a kind of artifact i can
hang on my wall, along with the body
i carried years ago. still clinging
of airplane fuel.
quite a pity - never did i love
what was most alive -
until i cut to hurt,
and out came mercy. oh the blood pours heavy, mine to coat
your streets with.
am i loud enough now.
the fumes of my land where i stepped to
validity, disappears. goosebumps in high reach
is all that covers.
though my complexion fits as you’d have it be,
my language, on the tip of
the tongue - you have trained to speak
a borrowed one.
and now - a kind of artifact i can
hang on my wall, along with the body
i carried years ago. still clinging
of airplane fuel.
quite a pity - never did i love
what was most alive -
until i cut to hurt,
and out came mercy. oh the blood pours heavy, mine to coat
your streets with.
am i loud enough now.