Apocalyptic poems, posted every m-f.

dialogue

amidst a backdrop of wilting lexicons,
there are certain words we work hard to remember –
they are the words of the body,
the veins and arteries, tendons, muscles

we keep those words in our fingertips,
and along the edges of our blades

when we kill, we do so with gravity

dropped down deer,
we are talking to your carotid
to your failing heartbeat
to your wide-eyed beauty;
we have worked hard to remember this language
that we might start speaking again,
that this might be more than just a kill

we are digging for dialogue in your ribcage.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s