In the struggle to findwhere
Pisces ends and generations change
there’s popped blood vessels
and whores and cinematic
origins for names
we can’t read
because the page is stained
by shame
and less than one
day where
wilted candles
are passed down and reused,
my wish, smoking
yours out.
I take
the twin fish
that tattoo your love handle.
I switch
the one that’s you
and
the one that’s me
so you can’t witch me
anymore
or ignore that there’s
more
or less
than that day.
My mother’s god
sold her skinny for sunday.
He gave her beautiful blue-blind eyes,
to freeze out the faithless
finding the sum of
tax breaks and free school lunches
in the verses and books.
What’s worse is
crooks took her promiscuous
and told her
Look how
Motherhood becomes
a woman scorned.
An unbecoming of personhood
that teaches the workhorse
how to replenish the
Workforce.
But I’ve come upon a deadhorse
in her hopechest
next to her tambourine and leotard
and hair scarves that
show how alike we are.
