this is what a graveyard looks like when the sun rises slowly to greet the day

The bruises come up slowly

as if floating up 

from the bottom of the sea. 

As she looks up at the ceiling,

she thinks,

what does it mean 

to be with someone, 

to grow up beside them,

for nearly two decades? 

Does a ship become anew,

as cells are born and die, 

or does the body bloat and float

above the surface,

being eaten by flies? 

Daydream nightmare cavalry come

to pick you apart. 

This living is exhausting 

and you need to rest. 

grief

I am a child of the wind. 

I am mercury and sea salt. 

The forgotten chapel on an isle of sand. 

A cult of whispers. 

I seethe, and loathe, and ache. 

I am the foam at your feet. 

I will drag you down. 

telephone wires

I am not busy.

I am a creature of a thousand expansive yearnings. 

I am soft starlight passing the crest of the earth. 

I am a reaping of joy while the tide breaks. 

I am not busy.

I am not your creature. 

I am not your starlight. 

I am not your reaping.

For you say, "you must be so busy" 

and I demure.

For you say, "you are so busy"

and I tend to the weeds in the garden you planted. 

I am not busy

until you make me so

by the very saying. 

A prayer for the patron saint of devotion

What if we said what we wanted.

Instead of burning it all down

because we're terrified of rejection. 

What if we did what we wanted. 

and fuck the terror. 

I will drown myself faster 

when I'm dying of thirst.