Blood Out the Water
Her skin puckered
                              and crinkled. Her skin
beat blue and purple.
To shed is loss
                                              or becoming
nerve meat pulsing.
                                         This heartbeat,
this ravaged drum—
                  she an eye-mouthed vagina
                          pours blessings.
So we see.
                       Be make ground uterus.
Tend a home. Spit on the carpet. Howl
the lullaby of swaddles.
So we seed.  	    	              The first word
echoes growth. Shatters you
                                              to tethers.
 
Splice
Then they pinch
my face into a token
till memory of life
as human fades.
A seemingly undisturbed plain.
And oh—
the grasses.
She is ground water. Low
hum. Swoosh plop
tremble.
Now, I see a child
and think maybe
I am she.
used. USED.
Every time I want to pin the we,
we slips away from me,
a black eel
squirming.
I steady watch
slow churning texts—one sided,
but cannot comprehend
black light refracting.
I acknowledge
I am too ensimismado
to know how to say it properly.
Then they tried to nail my tongue,
but it forked and curved
in divergent directions.