Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Her pancreas came apart like pangea
drifting outward and careening into half-buried tires
like children on their first go-kart go.
It took her a million years and a day to die.

She turned yellow and curled in on herself
a rewound flower, bowing, dreaming of seed
as some misnamed fuck stuck its hand in her skull,
made the mandible mouth sounds alien to her mind.

Each week he knelt till his kneecaps flattened
and cracked closed the thin silver smile
that separated out the finger-rind.

It isn't your eyes on them.
It isn't the rapid piling under of uck.
I hate that they grow. I hate that they grow.