We are all born mad, some remain so.
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When day is done, the sky
puts on her black dressing gown
and turns in for the night.
smooth as polished stone
marble bodies like three
for my –– sing! ––
How many times
have I died? How many alive?
I was a ghost. A breath. You
caught my scent. Made me flesh.
my world precious & so small though I am trying—
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“I know it isn’t supposed to make any sense,” I said, “but I can tell something in me has changed.”
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i am barely an animal
no divine hope
or angelic voice to fill me
What is lost is lost, we have
to learn to carry that loss on