Fair Flying

Chewing blue lips, I retrace steps through stars, flirting with moons. I choose to peruse stardust, not blood. Maybe this mess is crucial, a reverse foxtrot of love, where I stumble over toes, numbing spines to dip deep and long. Maybe this mess is sacred, a puddle of black matter flattening my frills, clipping me to the edge of God’s belly ring.

Draw out venom With pens. Roll on ink Like perfume. Feel bubbles behind eyes; Draw those out too With sharpened pencils And plates, knives And ceramic snakes, Like someone who’s blind But sees .