never a mother, twice a child
i wonder if god always knew i’d never touch the blood-slick scalp of my own creation & forget
peace? / another evening with my swollen, low-hanging fruit / my narrow bed / my parallel
appetites
who do i knead bread for? what demons do i quell in the crook of a neck?
i am always a way : bursting in a mouth; blooming towards a cleft; thinking of things in relation to
plurality.
a man once called me an obstruction of view — a spavined, old crane
this song of myself, queerly halved, & always about you.