— true —

let the pain write

the poem,

let it explode;

stop being careful,

stop caring what

they think:

your mother, the man-

child in the

stroller, the clown

on the corner;

write it all down

— true —

so you can start to live it.

 

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mine :

this multi-

faceted face

 

naked-birthed

behind the

conflated mask-

space: light-years

 

of oceans of eyes

floating; cavorting;

mourning; storming out

 

of the clay cave

of the hairless head

(still gem-forming)

 

and tri-secting—

 

skeletal embellish-

ments of angry trinity;

fractal dust deserts

furrow-sloping down

 

to precariously perch

their origins atop a full

round of ammunition—

 

a love-mouth begging to be opened;

a soul shell commanding to be filled