Poetry

In your azure eyes 
I was teaching myself: 
how to drown. What a nodal 
agency to receive the award. 
 
The ailing moon 
will not come to my rescue. 
The seized cloud had failed 
to cry – 
 
embarrassing the sidewalks. An 
unfathomable legend. 
A bloated name becomes the 
mother of rapes. 
 
At stake were all the crutches. 
The tribal stain had a stark 
reality. The basic instinct, 
walks home to stand on the mount of bones.