A line, fractured clean—
I stare.

How
Can this mirror be so mean?

Shards of truth,
Slicing my skin,

Oh, what I’d do
To see me whole again

you cut open
pomegranate
or is it—
man go?

you take your knife
and you scrape
and you scrape
and you scrape
until it's bared all its pride
until all you hit is flimsy thin rind

each word that stings
is carved into skin
the termites
gnawing your bones
make new friends:

horror
and fear

of being
human has-beens
who hide behind
glass eyes
sliced skin
like
humanesque
empty tins

fire hour
no sand in the hour
glass in my
eyes are          blacktooblacktooblacktooblack
             (calm)
     glass. there is no
sand in the Hour

night's
eternal sorrow
does not
ensnare stars
but
entrances beings
who
desperately desire
to taste the lips
of mortal liars
who pray to their gods—
for a night eternal

hapless devotee,  
willing to sacrifice bread crumbs  
for a taste of mercy  
from some Body you’ll never meet.  

you remain on your knees,  
despite the digging of the roots  
of the tree you cry beneath.  

the pebbles make you bleed
there’s lacerations under your sleeves
you're wailing at your incapability

say, pitiful creature,  
why are you still
on your knees?

here i am again
wet face
aching heart
why is my love a flood?
why is your love a tsunami?
i've taken cover but
i should've stayed inside
and sooner

built my wall
of broken sticks
built my wall
of flawless glass

(my hands are shaky—
the sticks will splinter,
the glass will crack)

i know
i'll end up here again