No more dead bodies
in my bed, please.
No more men in search
of their mothers inside me.
They stare at bright screens, electric moons.
He screamed with other boys
at his mother’s corpse then ran away.
He banged his inscrutable body
against the doors of all the houses.
Pictures of his death waterfall into my dreams.
I became a flower from graveyard dirt.
I became a chirping bird, a pretty girl.
My tattered dress blew in the wind
like ashes. You helped me scatter them.
Will you always love me? I ask the dirty sky.
No more goodbye dances.
No more looking in your graveyard eyes.
We touched all the dead things
and smelled them like it was sex goo.
We cried because we wanted to be light.
In your left eye a girl died.
In your right eye, a boy.
Let us bow.