Woods
a person, a pattern
a person, a pattern
the texture

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Woods

and criminals came out of the woods
following
the light

setting the village on fire
using the dead to draw
these cliffs

 

*

 

we should go to that area
in the brush near
the silence

 

*

 

maps of
this place, the lips
and highways cleared

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

a person, a pattern

brothers are waves
created by sinking
homes

untraceable homes

 

*

 

disguising the seeds in
our hands

planting what
we cannot stomach

urges to kick and breed

 

*

 

we drive
the toxin
deep in our chest

that girl inside us
will feed us
to our younger selves

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

a person, a pattern

a mother
straps the same
head on thousands of bodies

she shares their
hair, their skin, but no one
will stay

 

*

 

what is beneath
us in this
abandoned home

the kidneys of
81 people

 

the organs
we are going to wear
as replacements
inside our own belly

 

*

 

a person is
born into a body that lives
and dies

I could be you, inside that body
and disappear
with the same
whimper

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the texture

the horse’s ability to repair
this pulsing
growth, peeled away
and released
through the breath

 

*

 

breaking us
down to the raw
age

meat repeating, bent over again
facing away

 

*

 

the canal, air passages, yellow
bones brought back
straight

the hum and
transmission