The Terror of the Capillaries



I WANT TO FEAST: my own nest of capillaries

eat them up and smile MY BLOODY GRIN

and I swear it fits on YOUR LIPS

For nothing beats harder than A HEART in hindsight,

in thought of how things used to be


Caught you in my throat

HELD CLOSE to my spine

Once you’re shot

You’re done

You can’t stop

Bleeding out

And if you live

You can’t remove

The scar

Any more than you could put the BULLET BACK

In the barrel, and forget you ever saw her




The politeness of words GONE SOUR,

A feigned GESTURE, and the image of him

Across the room looms large, a room

DARK and swamped by GIRLS who have

Come before; he can’t PULL BACK from

THE SHAPE of things—the Bending place—

Where innocent BOYS become broken-men

THINGS that decorate bars, floors and

CANALS, screaming for justice, LOVE

And retribution—to please, for the

Love of EVERYTHING, find them there




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