Dry beans.

Black coal gleaming, gleaming;

Shards of night in my stomach.

It is late and the body

You could mould with fists

Is lain in itself, fruiting

Infirm chords -

A web to a child’s

Gleeful hands, unknowing.

 

I drank the fly in my wine

Because it mattered not,

Tiny death in my mouth, and

I crushed one leaf

Browned by summer fire

Over my right thigh.

 

The following dust stuck fast

To sweating fingertips,

Made the smell I suck now

Louder, louder, in bored disdain.

 The grand dilemma

Of a fairy’s breath.