two poems for the price of one


My heart is too full of clouds for your sunshine-summer soul
and I am afraid I will fall like an overcast day across your irises
I am afraid of the lightning in my bones
I am afraid that I will fall
and they will break open
and my death-marrow will be thunder and monsoons
Storms will spill from the exquisiteness of my breaking
There will be such a sharpness to me
This is perhaps a warning
or an invitation

I am taking bites out of the sky.
It is juicy and made of flesh.
This is a spicy black-burnt chicken night;
I can palate these constellations:
whole with wings and legs still attached,
the head lost to some factory floor.
I want to be an astronomer and live off stars
and silently spinning galaxies.
I break them for my daily bread.
The crumbs at my mouth-corners are celestial.


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