Looking in through the window on the canvas of my mind
I asked the moon once why she carved herself
into a scythe every few weeks
she whispered, “because hunger sharpens all things”
and her reflection burned the river silver
the indelible ink is thick tonight a slow arterial leak
from the nib of some celestial crow
writing its manifesto across my ribs
dripping an obsidian choreography
each paragraph darker than a priest’s confession
but listen—
the night is just practicing her cursive
dragging shadows like a wet brush
over the freckled shoulders of dawn
and I am the parchment that refuses to apologize
for how loudly it bleeds
