the contents of the atlantic
are tucked behind my ear.
the other isles have oozed into my hair
parasitcally working their way down my throat
sharks rippling in my vocal cords.
bless your hands! (bermuda cries)
as they drag across my ribcage
the sculpture that harbors atlantis.
a sunken treasure
that you have resurfaced.
cut in half in a ceramic bowl, the edge of the spoon carves out the meat from the middle, sawing at the membrane that encases the pulp.
Disregard the misconceptions of hostility in the act of lying. It is just a mechanism brought to us first by Darwin. A bird nips at the soil, her beak raw from the tragic repetition of giving and giving.
I have this image of you holding a bloody heart, kind of sunken. When this girl needed help the most you tore out your heart to give it to her but her body rejected it and attacked it. It's a natural reaction, like allergies.
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