moth wingswith no alarmMore Like This
she dances through the bony air,
eyes like a hungry child
slobbering at the first scent of knowledge.
glistening off of those eyes
– the very sight of it –
the taste that all greedy minds crave.
she flutters towards it,
light peaks through her delicate wings
like how it flickers under the water's surface,
an angel ascending into heaven
easily and swiftly crushed
by the capital hand
that shadowed behind such heavenly light
– with all intention of crushing the wings of innocence –
and with a clear conscience,
as a moth is to a hand as what a person is to the universe.
isn't it painless for a hand to swat forth
and drop a bomb from a plane thundering over a burning city
because it can't see the suffering it causes?
wouldn't it be immaterial, then,
for a puissant hand
to drop one from heaven?
moths that are dazed by the beauty of light
are not seldom blind
to the torment that it's agent to.
How To Say GoodbyeDear Unborn Child, Whom I Let Go;More Like This
When I was thirteen and four months old, and you were thirteen years younger, I decided to let you go. You squirmed in opposition beneath my ribcage, up against my pelvis, and I licked my lips and tried to smile while I leaned my forehead on the cool glass of the car, hellbound.
I remember sea weed insertion, dilation, cramps and bleeding. Orange smoothies from Dairy Queen that I threw up, and I hoped you were mingling in the remains of my summer day treat, so I could put this behind me. Pretend I was 'moving on'. I laid in the bathtub of a hotel room for six hours, trying to melt you away in scalding water from a rusty tap, yet you clung on, holding tightly to the walls of my pelvic region. Wiggling upwards, towards my throat. Past my teeth. You're trying to get out, but my family has decided you won't breathe when you're released from your bloody shackles; you may as well settle down now, sweet son, settle down.
The rest of this, to me, is a blur. Th