the body parts a pile of pieces
amount a mountain ever distant
cleaving from itself behind,
the crunch of egg against the wall,
ear regular splinters along the spine,
the like-same crude-hewed absence
tied together to the foot of the tomb,
the dead healer,
I tried to name the places between the heart and the knee
but lost myself in the density of it,
the city was vague and rag-tagged red
bent to your bones into the night
shaking out the death threats,
keeping my finger on it,
breadcrumbs for the cats.
creativitches 