cornerstone

si vous




blood blends in with pools
of liquid; the thickness
of it all is meaningless.
when it comes to drowning
there are only a few pairs
of hands i want wringing.
the peal of heaven, the plunge
of freefall: crystal cuts deeper
than our roots. the family tree
smells like nooses. it hurts
looking up with all the crinks
in these skeletons of ours.
i felt the penny dust on my tongue
before the red even hued
but no one said anything
about the blood on my collar.
some dogs have turned up
missing. by turned up
i mean face down in drainage
ditches & i told you already
blood doesn't matter anymore.
someone is someone no matter
how thick their divots. even monks
tend to jump from their dome stones
to see whether or not they were wrong.
don't get me wrong, i say this
with love and an entire zoo
of tempests, of quiet loathing
i say this that the diamonds
in my teeth do not care
whether or not your blood mingles
with mine in any way: if someone
deserves to have my jaw
snaked around their neck,
i am already wide open
hissing on the river banks.
you would be surprised
how strong the scent of
weak links has become.
i do not think it's the weather.