Grief

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1. 
is a volatile fuel 
that blazes you far 
into the white desert 
like some 50s speed test pilot 
with goggles and a test track of chaos. 
It burns fast, 
leaves you stranded, 
and then reignites 
just when you think 
you’re about to get off.  

2. 
A ragged piece of bone 
dragged over a bowl’s lip. 

An oil drum with just enough 
left to burn. 

A leg that breaks nightly. 

A basement drain always welling.

A thousand walls stripped  
bare and yellow.  

My bones and teeth 
turned to chalk. 

Every word a wasp 
digging under my skin. 

3. 
If your voice carried any more venom, 
this house would fill with corpses. 

4. 
You wear an anger coat  
made of hot coals and raw skin. 
In your pockets, you carry sea anemones,  
a bottle of gall, rusted chain, and at least two fingers. 
Your shoes are made of lava rock. 
Your manicure is by De Sade. 
You tie your hair with old, dry veins 
and powder your face with crushed bone, 
and across your white shoulders, a tattoo reads, 
There is sunshine in my soul today.