HYMN 14: LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE
Out back the weeds grow mouths like electrical sockets,
& the vines flesh green to autopsies. My own mouth
spills seeds, a cluster of ospreys hungry for a reason to
return. He threads my incisors through with cilantro stems,
& I spit roaches into the grass big as his palms. In response,
he holds my name like a dead bird. In response,
I shove my fingers down my throat, wait for my breath
to detonate in his veins. Out back the sky smiles ugly
like a skinned catfish. He gathers my dead name
against his hips: everywhere tongue & teeth.
The orchids pearl: fist to jaw. I hit my ankles
against his calves like a car crash. No ambulance comes.
He opens my abdomen, his legs. Inside: mercury, spit.
Under the oak trees, he peels me to river water.
Says: at least it tastes how it smells. Gout. Cocaine.
His mouth hushed to smoke, the cavity
collapsed to limbs. He nods, hooks his fingers under
my lips. Says: see how light the earth is— after.
The bones hollowed, bruises like coins: places where
we didn’t connect. After, the oaks rot to hands.