514 n 86th Street

Once, no twice spoken

The letters wrangled into

clumps of wet, pale flesh

Resting in her body,

And resting in her body.

These words asphyxiated

our surroundings

We became the astronaut’s food

as he leaves the earth,

hard pressed against the plastic

We curled up,

without any need,

to inhale

Death had rung the bell

And rested no,

covered our bodies

She arrived carrying her belated, full boy,

And then, she arrived carrying a vacant burial.

The scaffolding that was her pelvis,

pubis,

and uterus

forsook her

They confronted us by their

harsh turn,

towards vanity

Trophies of yesterday,

grave markers of today

Gales upon gales of weeping,

wet, pale flesh expunging

sorrow, rage, and broken,

shattered,

dreams

The room,

this coffin,

held our soiled dirge

Hour after hour,

hands grasping for life, for earth

A contemporary Pentecost,

deep, uncivil groans

of

not,

not,

not.

bloody yet.

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