I'm Considerably Less Chill Than Originally Implied - 06/03/17

No hell in death for a Jew

though living things hide in hell beneath black water,

splashing, flailing,

at that which stirs them on the surface.

Submerge and see clearly through drowned eyes, or wait

for each waterlogged freak to skulk through marsh to meet me -

write a gasping, screaming poem for every one, why don't you?

Kiss and flirt with wolves

on the ledges of memories;

wolves on the darkened staircase;

wolves in my family; with human hands that bump-break bones

in tiny legs, pulled

between the driver's seat and the passenger,

the passenger a wolf

'til we drive again,

and again a boy.

A skeleton two-steps and sings,

"the hipbone's connected to-"

the development of acute mental health problems in later life!

Tibia, fibula -

TITS! -

Pulled? Or proffered?

Sometimes.

A child is a woman.

A child is a stranger.

A child is an island.

I have bite marks on my ankles.