104 Degrees

104 Degrees



My moth child lost a coin toss
Ate dirt almost
Almost almost

I wheel my larva down the hill
Down the hill down the hill
on wheels one hundred and four degrees 
pressure past the point of flight

Goodnight until
the morning exams

She wears her Saturday on Sunday still
Coffin brown packaged socks
Plastic bagged my shoes she wore
A Berlin ring for Chinese tubes
An A-line valve, a loosened gown, 
a needle pricking at the skin on roads 
where blood forgets to thin and dagger teeth
the angels grin

The alarms don’t care when they go off
And off they go and off and off

Kai Sri Krishna the C word grins
Then pops a pill and rides a wave, a train, 
the last ship out of here
Radhe radhe, the 19th strain

The moth child’s wings have been clipped
And filmed and framed
And framed and filmed
The swallow paints along her nails,
twists her hair in long dark waves
Pretty girl you’re outta here
Outta here,
until until.

- E.P.
May 17, 2021


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