March 1, 2010
Mar 1, 2010
I was born scarcely before autumn full of night songs—
my screaming body a codex
of hurting. I tried to name first stars
and bird-shadows, prophecy of a greater tempest.
Later it was me supplying earth
her graves, leaves dying in a rainbow
of blossom, spiraling cadavers. On the playground
the last seasonal light firing over slides
and swing sets, those lost notes swirled
and lit my darkened throat.
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March 01, 2010