In for one last round, feeling bent, sized to lose;
many butterflies, eyes locked, it was silence, uneasy comforts, musicology and
pain; to love cacti, high and low, backwoods bleeding. Too sophisticated for
mention, southern imbalance, northern logic, craving where it aches; to miss a
page, scribbling a journal, one mission, one fire, a deadman coming to life …
filled with grins, desperate to sing, all falling apart. One last insistence,
trying to that space, where it hurts to write, hurts to beg, dying to un-sin. Re-featured—dangling
from a petal, freefalling from clouds, spinning like forgiveness destroys. Too easily
made soil, sickle to crops, baptized at seven: she disappeared, the building
took maintenance, flicker into skies.
