by wired-gates,
fences or doors—such private
chambers;
mother is grammar, father is ink
our
horrors filed by artifice. warm icicles or cold
fire,
too claustrophobic to gin, or to lazy such
raw
deception.
daughters
are re-studded
our influence by hunches our wines
crimson
purple: marooned eyes insufferable angst
at
so many oceans.
I heard rescuers those running leaps
the plane went higher;
so encouraged to disappear so much
wreckage while granny
has become dragonfly; such chicane
or terror while listing
hospitals (the nurse smells like mentholathum).
we harvest emotion we
paint it fire we die in line.
