i love how everything is too-cool black
too-cool preemptively-stained room
memory pinching time til it fits between
your tooth and the half-wound
of the cheek
needle drags against scar
chosen body bubbles up in blood
and is pressed back into flesh
sealed in with a dot of jelly
not trying to be an essentialist
all tattoos are christened with champagne and spit
baptized in a mouth guessing
the attribution to any quote
the poet, charlotte aitchinson
turning living people to Angels
“how are we doing”
blissed out third hour released from all burdens
skin leaps across the room, numb young and full of fire
ask you why we wrap the wound in plastic
you say “i dont know. it helps?”
isnt that everything?
predicated on the intimation
of big faith? i do read into things
when im ebbing and undulating
under the map
defining the virtues
of each gradient of pain
loving it: the way i’m opened
the way it feels like the perfect bridge
new harmony unfolding harm in the origami
bloom. telling my own fortune in the cast
from a neon rose. think about baptizing
me in my own mouth
saying “he did fine. he did his best
at the time” and feeling form shudder
when the cape unfolds and sheds
feathers into the dark