All borders are porous, by these powers combined, and life is right
fucking strange enough as it is without your having
to understand what you could never understand.
What's the use of even talking about it?
There was something barren
In the chemical trail, flat
Basalt pathway clear
Of any trace of human
Life
With a grunt and stems that curled around them, the charge of the carcass, the shadow of a young prince’s wound.
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Listen, you’re safe now.
Inshallah, breathe easier—
It is all for the kiln - the gown as discreetly
and secretly brought every night in her bed
and wore her down—burnt.
so many interchangeable letters collapsed in the machine of subversion and normative praxis. i am the blade and blood exuding from her pleasure wound.
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Suspension bridge set to burst
Before the in-bound tank procession
Stories carried in the air
From under the rubble.