December 12, 2019

You have always found it easy 

to burn your boats

gathered kindling 

lit a match

uttered prayers

as if honouring the occasion

masks its essential destruction.

I am a boat burning.

No raising of hands, eyes

no sacred herbs

stops me from being a pyre

pushed out on the water

flare pulsing

in front of your closed eyes.

November 2, 2019

Tissued ribbon. Something flayed         

in the dust, the blinding burn of sun,         

scorched bougainvillea petals,        

hot red flares of hibiscus, scuttles        

of lizards. Frayed rope flung        

at my feet. Some unseen muscle         

has sloughed itself free        

even its eyes – yes – holding it        

delicately (friable as flaking stone)        

the small narrow head holds        

two sockets, clear plastic capsules 

snapped open – how can this be, 

peeling your eyes away? 

Imagine th...

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