I. Alive in Naked Earth
Holding shovel is a boy—not boy so much as a body growing.
How his skin—patch of ground—is like a bed. What can’t be
sown in youth? Clean well mouth—spring of throat. New. My
skin’s a stained sheet tied to a dry-line. I’ve asked him, to fold &
bury me? He’ll do as instructed. Spade corner to garden corner.
Hands of earth against my mouth—there was a time I believed
in the all consuming. I want to believe again. Holding a shovel,
is a boy. Buried alive, I reclaim something:
remember when love smelled like rain?
II. Buried Alive in Cinder Block
My students build me into
tower. Standing for three hours,
reading old texts aloud, I have no idea
what they are doing on the other side
of me. Eventually they pullback the
bricks to reveal graffiti. A girl who
cannot hear, has drawn a sun in
sunglasses. The man in charge of
safety admits: I enjoyed that: I really
did. Truth told, so do I. Isn’t this the
story we’ve longed for? Babel—
that universal reach towards
something larger than self. I ask
what’s remembered; and no one
knows what to say. Or is it
how to say…
III. Masturbating in Someone Else’s Bed
I’m not home when he begins to ignore me; I hold my breath until blinded by asphyxiation. I’m again void. Again, invisible. Light. It’s all heat now. I turn towards myself; she has our face in our hands. She’s pounding it into the ground. As sky snatches ocean, held high, she drops me. A skyline fall. Covered in blood, I come—sobbing with the automatic song of pleasure— my fingers red stains—robins fluttering over broken eggs—their wings sound
the question, Why? Why? Why?