-
- I wish to give you bones
- Made of pinholes and seeds
- To grow marrow strong and true
- And veins shall feed you
- Nutrients, like oranges hanging
- From but a vein, from but a muscular vine.
- I should be able to manufacture
- You all on my own —
- But your performance resistance
- Will strengthen when you are dead.
- And when you have passed
- And rooted technique has dropped
- The skull, you will hang with weight
- And feel shallow, like petal love.
- I wish to give you a last night’s promise
- Of metal filled with organ donor parts
- So dancing would be swifter,
- And anger would be softer,
- And mornings would be humorous,
- But I cannot revive tomorrow
- With a present healthy promise
- For today.
- Stay near the ceiling, sweet shell of hell
- And bear not the burden
- Of flight, or sounded bell.
- For when the fire comes,
- And burn you I shall
- Our ash of pieces tiny and swift
- Will grow and bark, and stand with fists.
- We’ll be in charge of roots and worms,
- like every earth mother
- when heaven is crowded.
