i am under renovation. i am a work of restoration. i am rebuilding

after destruction. all my names for beauty have scurried off like crabs

to bury their soft bodies in the sand. i am the wound that waits patiently

for blood to arrive. knowing it has to travel far. deep from the watershed of every

storm-licked sky. but i am not patient. i scream at stop lights. in slow lines at the

grocery store. at the edge of gravesites while people engage in small talk. i am

a yellow crave slinking off into a dark corner. i hear quiet down now. i hear

settle down now. and a murder of scrub grass untangles in my throat. i seek simplicity.

yet swaddle myself in complication. in the passage of other bodies. in the simmering

tides of fluid and fur. i am a fog of moonlight spilling through the ribs of your cage.

a warm bath of crows. a flood of empty words. i am an offering. i am a rejection.

i am blood spill. i am a drop of honey. i am vacancy of body. i am animal in high heels.

a howl in the bathroom. a mad crush in the space between moments. a boneless

blank page. i am a pool of skin in your mouth. i am a long blue sigh of hunger

disguised as a reckoning.