death to self

This is the death everyone
has been talking about-- the break
away from my limbs, torso, volition...
each snap litters more of me on
the ground. I wince and nod an
acceptance; I pretend I know
how to do this, say, "I've been
through this before". I lie
through what are left of my teeth.

I fade for him

Like the belt buckle--
cinch and squeeze the belly,
the breath. Leave no trace of
last week, last night's supper--
the wine, the wooden table, the
soup like sweet and sour.

This is the concern, this is
the same pickle my godmother
couldn't get me out of years ago.

you can break everyone's neck

It just takes time, one
mistake after another, and
soon each bone is snapped--
torn and irreplaceable.

Mary had a little lamb

and I took it to my bed,
took it for my own. Clothed
in white, killed by firelight.
Mary searched her roof, found
the tub empty-- my stomach full,
bloated with wool.

sorry

The rain and I reflect in
light, by the lamp post
in winter, where a Lucy stands
searching. But I'm a Susan--
disbelieving every word, every
time You speak.