I’m the raven’s arc on the windshield
as she flies over me. Gah. I’m the field
across the dream–Gah. I’m the street
from my grandmother’s house. A sweet
orange on the mind’s tongue. Gah. Yes.
Center my gaze. The cold in progress
pricks my skin and I’m the color between
blue and purple. I’m the vibration, the clean
on your teeth as you tell yourself another lie.
Gah. I’m the beating heart, I’m the wound, I defy
the bleeding layers of dying at hand.
I’m a scream that’s a room I can’t stand
to be in. Gah! I’m the tree’s shadow spanned
on beaten asphalt! The sun kills a day at a time
and the wind spins your eager futures, sublime,
against the grain of your exposed skin.
Gah. I’m flight! I’m a life without a father’s discipline!
I’m the sky in the shape of a smile! I shout
and tear at my own skin! The clouds spill out!