Sniffing the wildwood flower that blooms in the inkwell of my mind, where once there were woods. Now insanity vines deeper than my tattoo of grief—I carve the veins in Mama's wrists, blue as the bruises left by her...

Your hands are a slow, deliberate scriptsnowing cold glass frozen in marroweach syllable, a fucking shardwhere my lips have beencarved into your flesh—up to my toesiesthe cunt has wornInto a hollow, seeping starepulsing for sharp kisses in the airyou...

Beneath the pendulum’s dull kiss,where lamplight gutters, thick with piss,I split the bone—oh, sweet dissever!—and watched the marrow twitch forever.A sacrament of rust and rot,the cleaver’s hymn, the flesh’s knot—each sinew hummed a psalm unblessed,each spurt of seed a...