Words are scum, light is a boat, history sour cream, 
Your mouth is a black hole mother and a tube of womaness, 
A mechanical pogrom has defiled your heavenly mind

Even still i write loveletters to the child on fire, 
her bandaged weeping skin, 
And deep lungs that reject air, 
Cocked grandiouse head of dreams and splits and roses
mouth a defiant radio
Her heart that visibly beats in her limbs as she skips
for the newly dead 

Words are bastards, polluted, sullied, trash, 
Your mouth is a whole and the sound a key that untethers
The Sumerian Me 
Unhooked then the eye drifts out, there is a body shaking,
Her body is shaking

My consciousness is a helium heliograph antennae
That I clutch and on the finest thread it bobs and bursts
far up there

All the old masters know this dance
I pour cream over the lemon 
Earth is so loud it hurts
There are angels always singing in my ears

I dig holes to pretend I am here
Sound is a shapeshifter
Underneath it all, within it all, information forms 
and reforms and remembers like Osiris.  

We are clay clay drawn up from the sea
Words are Scum on the surface