I’m sorry I held the hand that pushed you into the creek,
that it’s because of me that you broke down last week,
endless tears sprouting from your eye’s leaks
and your salted flesh in my vulture’s beak.

Tear my nails from their thrones
Melt their crowns, under domes
of gold and silver and bronze
now crying obsidian across dawns.

Hand me an axe that I am able
to grind against, mind unstable,
hand me the lighter and the cigar
then strangle and choke me from afar.
Crack my mind, hold it ajar
let it mix with lava bars.
Imprison me, straightjacket and all,
beat my love against the wall.
Flatlining dial tone— hang up the call,
hold me up and let me fall.

Pebbles of tears on the stone.
Blood to judge and atone.
Forest green thread of fate,
cracked mask, smile too late.

Daydreams: Nightmares.
Choking gasp: toxic flares.
In the corner, the light glares
against a clock that stares and stares
an imprisonment that whispers dares
to your ears, your fine fair hair—
that is now matted with blood,
yours and his, splattered down your hood
lined with all the memories that are good
“We promised. You said you would.”

Look to your counterpart among the stars.
He walks and petals depart from Mars
to trail after him, brittle & useless guards
against human mind and villainous bards
strumming humming playing guitar
with eyes sealed shut against his scars
he sings of you. And what you could do.
And to his lovers he hopes to woo.

Sit down with him
and him, and those you fear:

gaze at the sky where walls used to be. Touch the clouds.
You can fly.
You can fly.
So depart,
and hug them tight,
only after you know
how to hunger for thirst.