untitled, unfinished

She kissed a soft forehead as my tears fell across sandpaper cheeks

Unrelenting disguise, her spirit always calling from me

And those men

Those men who spew theories and never forgive their unreliable member,

They cultivate the cul-de-sac and twine their bones into braids and bury them deep underneath

I’ve lost my backbone, they say.

What’s missing is the glandular sweat on the back of his neck and unwarranted cracks of the whip.

What’s missing is my mother’s crying and my uncles lying

And that small brown dog who would lay with me as I ventured into the universal sky,

lucid and exhausted by my external body.

My body is Being, short and unkempt and letting gravity pull it closer to the ground as I soothe the ovular explosion

Aunt flo, flows