in a dim and exhausted new york subway train - i
surrender my fingerprints over to dirty railings and
my body stretches like a mayan temple over his landscape.
my sun drags itself across his skies to his brutal moon
prowling the outskirts of our madness. he says
bend yourself to these sights, love.
recognize, but never accept.
i want your filthy and bruised hope
on my table. he was
saturating space, says - how much
do you love your world. eyes screaming
alive over and over again. you can do better
he says, but you want to do worse.
a giraffe crawls out of my dead skin and is silent,
but stares with fat-sky eyes. its tongue snakes
and wraps around my wrists, shakes me
in a language that says my pores
are clogged and taste like
Africa and Ireland:
magic and desperation.