After We Ruin

O brick fist,

storm’s eye, twitching

guardian of angels cast

as devil-to-be, tell me: how has

the ammonia cloud and rootshred of

your bed, blazing crash site, kept your

hands casket-still, ghost-

cool? praise

ye treeless planet,

my bleach and flame

forged mirror

twinning the dark, your faith

burnt silk

my sweat-drenched slip,

the truest skin I know

O scalpel-crowned

roach king, salivating

into the blister-white void—

that all-breath and sweet-mud heart earned

you? whole home devoured.

all-knuckle, unblooded

desire: malware mimicking

|

the body, now one burst seam.

O frothing ocean of

licked bone,

what does one call a god

with no worshippers? where’s the

thread between freedom and death

when you’re

the last one left?