After Finding Out Her Baby Had Died Inside
Palms bearing into thigh tops,
I will push this baby out
I will set this baby free.
The blue dead body will glide
into a tub of water smoothly
She will not feel a thing.
I never imagined poetry
could be sweet.
a rotting pomegranate
on a branch covered in a nt s.
its half eaten cannibal red flesh
o o o o zing
the sweetened juiced
That dewdrops ate up before committing themselves to
The Holy Spirit.
Evening sun celebrates the birthday of
death, your death - when the seeds spilt again
on the holiest of HOLY weeds
and ivy before your legs felt mine on the green construction grass next to a
where I studied for an exam while you killed me.